Furiously, he dashed off a letter. He could’ve emailed or texted, the message was so short, but he felt a letter would have more weight, gravitas. Most communication had become too brief and temporary. But in this instance, he wanted something that could be displayed prominently with ease. Perhaps behind a magnet on the fridge.

“For Fuck’s sake, I beg you, do the God Damn dishes. It’s been your turn for five days, and I’m not going to do it for you again.”

As soon as he saw it on paper, though, he wondered whether the “I beg you” was too weak and/or dramatic. Then he thought about how being dramatic can actually make you appear weaker in all areas of life. But then he thought that having that phrase in between “for Fuck’s sake” and “God Damn dishes” helped to keep the sacred separated a bit from the profane. Less offensive.

But then he thought about how he wasn’t trying to be inoffensive. He was trying to get Jared to do the fucking dishes.

He took out a fresh, oversized postcard, blank on both sides. For a second, he wondered why these were even marketed as postcards. No picturesque vacation photo, no places on the flip-side for a note, address, or stamp. Just a largish blank card. He decided to use a Sharpie this time:

“For Fuck’s sake, do the God Damn dishes.”

Better. Stronger. Jared knew it was his turn and how long it’d been. And the “I beg you” certainly wasn’t missed. A temporary note, but one with substantial weight. Easy to discard, yes, but not easy to dismiss.

Now: delivery.

He looked from the kitchen into the living room where Jared, mouth hanging open, drooled sleep onto the couch, game controller hanging loosely between his legs.

God, I hate this place, is all he could think as his eyes moved about the apartment. White, semigloss hastily applied to every vertical surface. Purple wall-to-wall, tracked with paths to each door.

He found some tape and stuck the letter to the TV screen. Yep, that oughta do it.


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