You created the new show called Kitchen Switchers where people switch kitchens. So every morning after waking up in their own house they have to drive across town to the house with the kitchen they switched with if they want any coffee or breakfast. It’s a big hit since everyone likes watching people look through kitchen cabinets to find where stuff is.
Today you’re going to get a call that one of your former Kitchen Switchers has returned to the kitchen she switched with.
“Karen?” you’ll say as you enter the kitchen slowly. “What are you doing here? Show’s over.”
“I am where I belong,” Karen will say. “This is my kitchen.”
The mom of the house will whisper in your ear, “We just woke up and there she was. Eating an English Muffin. The last English Muffin I might add.”
“Karen,” say to her, your arms up to show no weapons. “Why don’t we take you back to your kitchen?”
“I said, THIS IS MY KITCHEN!” she screams.
“Okay,” you say. “This is your kitchen. All yours.”
“I always felt there was something off about my life. I love my husband. Love my kids. Love my job. But something made me feel like I wasn’t really me.”
She looks around the room, tears running down her cheeks.
“Then your show came along. And I saw this kitchen and I knew, this is it. This is the kitchen I was supposed to cook in. These fixtures. This model fridge. The way those high cabinets above the sink are organized. It was all so right.”
She seemed to stare at the adjustable faucet nozzle like it was a childhood memory.
“Then you took it away from me,” she says. “Show’s over. Back to your own kitchen.”
You hold still, afraid.
“THEN YOU TOOK IT AWAY FROM ME!!!” she screams as she drives a butter knife into your left temple.
Happy Kitchen Switchers Day!