That was my last straw. The next day, I stopped cleaning up after her. The house turned into a dump—hers, not mine and I let it stay that way. Then I took it further: I returned her trash to her room with cheerful little notes. The final touch? I packed her garbage into her lunchbox and sent it to work with her. The aftermath was priceless.
She was mortified but something changed. She started looking around like she was actually seeing the house. And the following day? The dishes were done. The living room was spotless. She even said thank you. These days, we’re not best friends, but we’ve found mutual respect. Last Sunday, we made pancakes together. She said they were great. I just smiled because sometimes people need to see the mess they’re making before they’re ready to clean it up.
