Battle lines

so when I got home today I checked Andrews room. It was disgusting even by his standards. There would have been a couple of pints of milk distributed in various glasses throughout the wasteland; most of it in advanced stages of fermentation. I counted 7 plates with various amounts of ketchup and, judging by the encrustation, most dated from early this week.

Thus ensued the usual argument. 'I was going to do it but '. I didn't accept his excuses. When his TV set is warm I know he has time available to do his household tasks - he chooses not to perform them.

After much whining (and that was just from me!) we established a goal. He will have it all cleaned out, the plates and glasses scrubbed; the general mess tidied up and the entirety of the floor not obscured by furniture visible by 7 PM tomorrow. If he doesn't then he loses TV for the entire weekend. I won't remind him; he's nearly 14 and should be able to remember the goal and achieve it.

Doubtless he imagines that if I disconnect his antenna upstairs he'll be able to make do with our big screen set downstairs. He's an optimist!