12 years ago today: The first time I massaged your scalp with my feet. For all those rubs, you paid me back well, friend.
I'm sorry for the time I watered your hair with Kool-Aid, but it's my 1 to your 50. That's right, I've kept track, so don't even try to contend.
I haven't forgotten your crimes: The time you stole my Silly Putty; bits of food you "found." Crouching whenever I awoke and let my foot descend.
You always refused to give up your collection of clipped toenails, or clean the marks our dog left. And even then, when they wanted you out, it was you who I'd defend.
But jamming the vacuum with loose ends, that was it. My willpower won't ever bend to you again. This month I'll rend you, not my common sense, old friend. Hardwood flooring doesn't bend.