I wash the dishes. Pots, pans, plates, silverware. I scrub them all clean. I wipe the counters. I clean the stove. I remember my father was obsessed with cleaning the stove. Night after night, he'd be there, washing the stove down. Singing to himself as he cleaned the stove. He used to talk to the stove. "Hey, stove," he'd say. "Hey stove how you doing tonight? You're looking a little dirty. I'll clean you up, stove. I'll have you feeling better in no time. How's that feel, stove? You like that, don't you? You like that." Now I do the same.