The laundry will finally be able to take that vacation. The little pink socks will go exploring in the cave underneath the fridge. The oil stained jeans will be able to lie sprawled in deep relaxation on the living room floor, basking in the sun. The towels will have all night parties in the back yard without anybody picking them up and hanging them uncomfortably on hooks.
The dishes will be able to have their long awaited orgy, as slimy and disgusting as they've ever imagined it. The spoons will wrap their concave heads around the tines of the fork in a peanut butter gang bang. The crock pot will take on seven dinner plates at once and overflow with rancid ecstasy. No one will be around to break up these putrid unions.
The lawn, I'm afraid, will not take it as well. It is used to having me there to trim it's wild hair, pull away the ugly bits, maybe bring it flowers every now and then. It's very sensitive about its appearance, you know. It has come to rely on me. I know how to hide its wild nature. It would much rather have been plastic or astroturf, I think, every blade the same color and length. It hates that it is Nature.
The pan and stove will also be anxious without me. I have usually come to warm them up by now. They are probably discussing possible explanations for my absence right now. Perhaps they think that I've just gone out for breakfast and I will be there at any second, I'll come and satisfy their souls with grilled cheese sandwiches. They will deny that I have abandoned them.
The floor will not care either way. It knows very well that any unhappiness can just be swept under the rug. I have taught it well.