And now I'll just move the swift over to the kitchen table so it will be near the ball winder that is permanently attached to my dining room bookcase:
There it is, right next to The Man's Jesus action figure and the photo of Bunny and her brothers at the collective farm the Bunny parents ran when we were little. They told us to smile for the camera or we'd have no gruel back at gulag, so don't be fooled.
Uh oh. Problem:
The Man has left his shit on the dining room table. There is no room for the swift. (Please note YB in the background, staking out the kitchen just in case someone drops a biscotti or something.)
What to do? What to do? Well, I'm not going to clean it up. It's The Man's mess. There is only one thing to do. Passively-aggressively pretend that it isn't there and see how long it takes him to clean it up, aka Bunny Goes On Strike. Bunny Goes On Strike a lot. It doesn't seem to make much difference. Usually, people don't notice that she's on strike. However, it makes for some excellent seething and brooding in solitary silence. Until The Man cleans it up, Bunny will have to suffer with her boring old knitting.
UPDATE:
The Man cleaned it up. There usually isn't a wine box and a Borders bag on the kitchen table. Thus, their presence is unfamiliar and, ergo, scary to Kirbys. So scary, they prevent Kirbys from eating their supper, because their supper dishes are near the kitchen table. The Man moved his shit, Kirby ate his supper, Bunny wound her yarn and cast on her sock, and all is well with the world.
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