Mrs Taylor rushed from the house leaving the unwashed breakfast crockery in the dining room. The kitchen was incensed!
“you wont be able to use us now,” the taps dripped into a bowl. The bowl banged the sink. “Tell the taps to stop dripping or knives and forks will crash into soapy water and make a big splash, when Mrs Taylor comes home. The taps will have to cry buckets.”
“I got used to stir the tea,” interrupted the egg spoon. “I’m rather brown. I was silver.”
“Be quiet,” ground the cheese grater through gnashed spikes. “I’m gonna keep some of the cheese when they shred it. That will teach them. The taps will have to run at full flow.”
“Please let’s settle this argument peacefully,” the taps gushed. They were twins except for their hats.
“You’re just pretending to be reasonable,” the bread knife said cuttingly. “I’ve bathed under a few taps in my time, but you’re the limit.”
“Mmm… you have a long history,” mused the vinegar bottle with a touch of acidity.
“Really!” exclaimed a tea cup. “let’s round this off nicely with a drink.”
“Nicely!” exclaimed the sugar tin. “You haven’t even got a saucer.”
“If you think I’m putting up with this,” wobbled the door handle, “I’ll get stuck. None of you will enter the dining room.”
“You’re a drip,” tinkled the red capped tap to the blue one who answered, “You leave me cold.” The red capped tap let slide a hot tear. The bowl smirked.
“When I’m full I’ll invite a lot of plates to a bubble party. I’m tired of you two ruling above me!” cried the sink. The tea towel flapped nervously.
“We’re a bit poor today,” mentioned the frail blue plate whose few crumbs hid shyly in her corners.
“Don’t worry said the cake tin, “They’ve left paper in me covered in cake. There’s enough to go round.”
“You shouldn’t let the plug hole swallow it. He gets us blocked up,” hissed the pipes under the sink menacingly. “We’re getting a bit thin on top. All our paint is flaking off.”
“I know,” crackled the paint feebly “It’s condensation.”
The floor cloth fluttered. “We don’t know a sation.”
“What is condensation?” prattled the egg whisker.
“Don’t ask awkward questions,” pinged her mixing bowl, “Or I’ll give you less room to dance with the eggs.”
“Just a minute!” squeaked a floor board. People are near!”
“Quiet all of you!” frowned the ceiling.
The door opened.
“False alarm!” squeaked the top hinge. The door slammed.
“Don’t ask me,” whined the bottom hinge. I’m only your partner.” He had come slightly adrift.
“I wish some one would fix you,” muttered the door stop. You’re giving me a dent.”
“Don’t worry about that,” twisted the door handle. “I work at their command. I can go. No body will be able to get in.
A ponderous light hung over them all.
“Look what you’ve started,” the dish cloth flung at the taps.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” wavered a doily peeping over a silver cake stand at some abandoned tongs.
“Not now you’re empty,” clamped the tongs.
“If you don’t behave!” snapped the toaster “I’ll pop up unexpectedly.
“So what. Tick tock,” repeated the clock.
The smoke alarm threatened, “Every one quiet or I’ll scream”.
“I’m not very full,” muttered the box of matches to the gas stove.
“Strike a light,” said the gas stove moodily “I’m not switched on anyway.”
“All I want is to be on my own wavelength.” crackled the radio.
“I wish you’d decide which one before people decide for you. You know how they change my direction,” warned the aerial pointedly.
“No more bad feeling in here,” called the wall decoratively. “Or the people will ill treat us. Let’s make up and have fun before they arrive with the bleach.
At the word bleach everyone and strangely even the doily lacked lustre. Footsteps were heard.
“She’s back!” the dining room informed the kitchen. “I’ll be tidied and polished.
“No! She’ll use me first,” laughed the washing machine whirringly.
The door opened. Mrs Taylor entered her kitchen.
“It’s very untidy,” she murmured. “Oh I seem to be out of bleach!”
The kitchen heaved a sigh of relief.