Sponge Speak
Sponge Speak
You might wonder how I know so much. An inanimate object. But, hey, I deserve some respect. I’ve been used as a metaphor for so damned long, same hackneyed metaphor, that is all people know about me. It’s never “as charming as a sponge,” “as durable as a sponge,” “as sexy as a sponge,” “as brilliant as a sponge”! No. It’s always: “he soaked it up like a sponge.” Passive! “Absorbent” is the most exciting thing ever said about me. Let’s not even mention “He was sponging off his parents.” And I get so tired of hearing, “Did you know a sponge is actually a living thing?” Well, what do you know?!
It’s not my fault I have a boring life. That jerk, David, with his obsessive compulsive disorder—would he ever let me visit the living room? Visit my family in the bathroom? NO. Not only am I stuck here at the kitchen sink, I am always—always!—on the same side of the faucet. My God, even when I go to the stove—aagh, the stove, don’t get me started—shoved up against a hot burner, wiping up unbelievable scuzz and gudge. I hate the stove. It’s like, like, going to Bosnia for a vacation.
Yes, I know about Bosnia. That’s my point! Listen to me. Sponges are absorbent. We…pick…things…up. Get it? Do you think we are stupid? Do you think when you squeeze us that it is our brains that drip out? That is water, stupid. Or soup or whatever scum you’ve pushed me into.
Thank god I am a kitchen sponge. Even if I have to sit in the same goddamned spot 24-7. God forbid that someone would move me to the other side of the sink. Or onto the counter. No. I have to stay here. I clean up everything else but my spot never gets wiped up.
I’ve seen it come and go, come and go.
It is not easy being a sponge. You know it itches a lot, all through me. Oh yeah. Bacteria. Billions. Billions of them. Whoa, I love a good bath in hot water. It relieves the itching for a while but it doesn’t cure it, the bacteria come back. Oh, what helps is to go into the microwave. Two minutes, that’s all, it fries the little buggers inside me. Feels so good. I come out a new sponge.
What? No, I don’t have e. coli. Never have. Proud of it. You must be thinking of the bathroom sponges. Go ask them.
No, it’s not hard work, you’re right. The metal thing, I don’t know its name, brillo, whatever, it does the hard work. No, don’t worry, it doesn’t understand what we are saying. No, you see, it’s not absorbent and intelligent like a sponge. It’s not a living thing. Touch it. It’s metal.
So, I just do what comes my way. They use biodegradable detergent, it’s a little milder, scent is not so bad, could be worse.
It’s not a bad life. Just lonely, pretty lonely. I’m glad you talked to me, good meeting you. Hmm? No, I don’t know what a sponge’s life span is. I think we live forever. Come back anytime.
This entry was posted on Sunday, November 16th, 2008 at 6:36 pm and is filed under Funny, This and That. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.