There is one small kitchen in our peaceful living space for twelve people. So, naturally, the dishes sometimes stack up fairly high. One of our brave women "solved" this problem by placing a box on the floor into which all dirty dishes every day the kitchen was cleaned went.
This was the start of something terrible. As things tended to sit in the box for days, even weeks, people became less and less willing to venture into the dark unknown of what became known as "there." (As in, "I'm afraid to look in there.") Forks, spoons, and all sorts of cutlery began to mysteriously disappear into the box's infernal stomach as the box gobbled up all in sight and began to be a breeding ground for it's infernal army of bacteria and mould.
Today, quite rightly anticipating that, if left alone throughout the entire month long break, the box would have sprouted legs and probably fur by the time we all returned and be in the process of taking over not only the kitchen, but the world, I waged war against the box. It was a dangerous mission, I know, but somebody had to do it. It was difficult and long, and at times it was tempting to give up...the box had too many weopons at its disposal. But I pressed on. I even attacked them with a soft squishy thing called a "sponge." I realize that it may have been morally questionable on my part to use such a terrible weopon, but I had to take every advantage I could find...the box's powers were too many.
After an epic battle, I prevailed. The box was reduced to a flat piece of cardboard as each of its insides was extracted and soaked in that terrible killing mechanism called "soap." I stood, triumphant, and raised my soap-covered hands in the air, rightfully reclaiming the kitchen as Waveney territory.