If my furniture could talk, specifically to address any grievances they had with me, I suppose the two items that would have the most to complain about are my dresser and my desk. I’m forever bumping into them, knocking into them, smacking them with the vacuum cleaner when I’m hoovering up the carpet, spilling things on them….if they were human, they’d look like they’d gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and lost….while standing in a dumpster. It’s not that I’m a slob, because I’m not. I’m actually a neat freak, which is why they take so much abuse to begin with. The dresser belonged to my great-grandmother (though purchased in the late 40s/early 50s), so it’s quite old and has seen better days.
Runner-up to them would be the family refrigerator. Our dog has a bad habit of sleeping in the kitchen with his stomach facing the fridge, and usually with one leg up on it. Which means his doggie boy parts are constantly all over the bottom of it, and on top of everything else that happens to it, that’s an indignity no one (or thing) should have to suffer. I’m sorry, Mr. Fridge. 😦