Dear Floor Board,
Sssshhhh. Shush. Hush a yer face! The baby is asleep finally and it is four am. I have no time for your garbage. I don’t know why you hang out right by the changing table and the crib and right next to the feeding chair, and I cannot stop you from being there. What I do request is that for once you let me leave the room with you saying good bye in whatever shrill Klingon dialect you know.
I don’t know what scree fraaaannnnngggg crrruuuuuummmpp means. No one does. I can’t respond to that and all I want to do is run away. But if I run away your buddies get involved in the chat and soon it is an indecipherable symphony of ffffrrraa krreessah ppppppp happening under my feet.
Stop it, Floor Board. Stop it or I’ll bury you alive in a box. (Newhart FTW).