“You ruined it!” Linda snapped.
“You told me to turn it!”
Your ingredients are defective.
“Because you’re distracting me!”
I stepped forward.
“Let’s move on. We have another lesson.”
Linda thought the worst was over.
But the livestream had attracted exactly the wrong kind of attention.
You ruined it!
The next station was our laundry room.
I placed Marcus’s wrinkled shirts beside an ironing board. “Please demonstrate proper ironing and folding.”
Linda inspected the iron. “This model is terribly outdated.”
“We bought it last year.”
She pressed the collar. A sharp hiss followed.
Linda thought the worst was over.
“Mother, that’s steaming!”
“It’s supposed to!”
She lifted the iron. A shiny patch decorated the shirt.
Marcus stared. “That’s my favorite.”
“Then perhaps you should learn to iron it,” I suggested.
This model is terribly outdated.
Marcus attempted folding a fitted sheet and produced something resembling an injured jellyfish.
A viewer commented: Is that a sheet or a hostage?
Linda threw down the iron. “This is ridiculous! I’m not your maid!”
I raised an eyebrow. “But yesterday you said my husband’s socks needed ironing.”
“That’s different!”
That’s my favorite.
“How?”
“Because it’s beneath me!”
The comments exploded.
Bob: Beneath you?
Patricia: But not beneath Sarah?
I’m not your maid!
Marcus glanced at the screen. “Maybe we should stop.”
“Finally, something sensible!” Linda reached for the phone. “This workshop is over.”
Before she could end the livestream, Patricia commented:
Linda, you promised us a complete demonstration. What about the final task?
But not beneath Sarah?
Linda froze. “Patricia, surely you’ve seen enough!”
Patricia: Actually, I’d like to see what you’ve been teaching us to do.
“So would I.”
Linda folded her arms. “Fine. What’s next?”
I opened the bathroom door.
And this wasn’t even the best part of my revenge.
What about the final task?
Inside waited gloves, cleaning products, brushes, and an ordinary toilet.
Linda recoiled. “Absolutely not.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You expect me to clean that?”
“Only if you’d like to demonstrate.”
This wasn’t even the best part of my revenge.
“On camera?”
“Yes.”
“That’s disgusting!”
I smiled. “But Linda, you said the toilet is a woman’s face. I thought you’d want to show us yours.”
Marcus made a strangled noise.
You expect me to clean that?
The comments went wild.
Claire: FACE REVEAL!
Bob: Somebody call a dermatologist!
Linda’s cheeks turned scarlet. “I will not scrub another woman’s bathroom!”
“Then Marcus can demonstrate. You’ve taught him everything, surely.”
The toilet is a woman’s face.
Marcus looked horrified. “Why am I involved?”
“Because you’re Mommy’s Little Helper.”
He picked up a brush. “Where does this go?”
“Marcus. It’s a toilet brush.”
“I’m asking which product to use!”
You’re Mommy’s Little Helper.
Linda snatched the brush away. “Stop embarrassing yourself!”
“Mom, you’re embarrassing us!”
“Me? I haven’t cleaned a toilet in twenty years!”
The room went silent.
She continued, apparently forgetting the camera.
Stop embarrassing yourself!
“I employ professionals! I have a housekeeper, a cook, and someone who handles my laundry!”
I lowered my voice. “Then why have you spent years telling me to do everything myself?”
“Because someone must maintain standards!”
“Why couldn’t Marcus help?”
“Because he’s a man!”
I haven’t cleaned a toilet in twenty years!
“Apparently, men can analyze financial markets but can’t recognize a toilet brush.”
Comments multiplied.
