tra la, tra la...tra laundry...
ay me, sad hours seem long...having that, which, having, makes them long, that is...that being, of course, laundry.
sorry, Will.
Our laundry room is completely swamped in clothes. Piles on piles of clothes reach for the ceiling, as if to say, "..."
Well, honestly, I don't know quite what laundry would say. I'd have to spend more time with laundry, get to know it a bit better, before I could reliably say what laundry would say.
Right now, I guess, it's most likely saying, "Stop ignoring us! We can make your life miserable, you know. We totally out-number you!"
Man, my laundry-related fantasies are getting a bit paranoid.
Time to wash some of those uppity little socks o' mine.
1 comment:
Hey! How long has this 'blogging' been going on?
Nice to see that this aversion to doing laundry at a sensible pace is a hereditary disorder, shared amonng seesters.
And hey! update your blog, ya lazy bum. Don't make me come down there.
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