A Day in the Life of an Oriental Rug
I hate my job. I hate my life. I really wish I could get up and roll away, but alas, I am stuck here. It's hard getting walked over like you're worthless, you know? I used to be hanging up among hundreds of my kind, with a nice laminated price tag and everything. I couldn't wait until the day that someone picked me and took me home. Now, I spend my days in the middle of a room on the floor. Countless amounts of food and liquid have been spilled on me, even though they're not supposed to be in the living room anyways. I'm starting to bald in the few areas where the blasted couch rubs up against me, and the sun is starting to bleach my already fading complexion. And the worst part is, I'm walked over. Constantly. It's like people put me there to prevent themselves from touching the hardwood floor. I don't even like feet! But that's all I ever feel. I can't even defend myself against the constant attack- I lack appendages. Really, I feel completely useless. I'm not even appreciated or admired anymore. I'm just there.
One day I'd just like to swallow my owners whole.
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