Buster Bissler had a mantle in his house with a vase on the mantle. And a stack of books on the mantle.
"Ah I love just walking around my house looking at the things I've got." he said in his house as he walked around in his underwear.
He walked into the room with the mantle. "I think I should touch one of the books on the mantle. It's been so long since I've read those books. Oh there's the vase there too. I should fetch a flower from my garden to place in the vase." he said out loud.
"I quite enjoy talking out loud to the house, as though the house is alive and going to respond." said Buster out loud. Then he stopped for a moment to listen and wait as if the house was going to speak up.
"Droooooooooooone..." said the house, which is what it always and only said. No response, basically. Buster kept walking.
He walked toward the outdoors to fetch a flower from his garden. Though he hadn't tended his garden in years. "No flower? I suppose I'll have to fetch a weed." he said.
So Buster fetched a weed from the grass and brought it into the house. He poured himself a glass of water, had a little sip, "Aaahh..." he said loudly, "Some for me," he said out loud, "Some for you." he said to the weed. Then he poured the water into the vase on the mantle and slipped the weed into the vase.
"Now it's time for that book. I love the written word!" he said as he reached for the book. Then he stopped. "Gasp!" he said out loud. There was a thick film of dust over the pile of books. In fact the film of dust extended to the entire mantle and even all over the vase. He retracted his hand, careful not to penetrate the dust layer.
"Have I neglected you for that long?!" said Buster, incredulously. "I'm so sorry, my children!"
Buster went and put on his prized white gloves that belonged to his grandmother. He did not want the dust to touch his flesh. He picked up the book and carried it to the coffee table. He was pleased with himself that he did not get dust on his precious finger. He sat down, stretched his face, wiggled his knees, and prepared to sink into the dusty book he'd placed before him. He felt a little tickle of eye crumb in his eye so he quickly scooped it out of his eye corner with his finger. Too enraptured with his plan to enjoy the book, Buster forgot that he had placed the glove on his hand and not removed it, along with the glove on his hand, the dust, absorbed into the finger tips of the white glove, but carelessly transferred into his eyeball.
"No!!!! The itch!! No! The dust!!" screamed Buster, as he stood up and ran about his home in his undies.
"Droooooooooooooooone.... hmmhmhmm... oooooooooone...." giggled the big house, under it's dronebreath.