I have had a load of clean laundry sitting on my couch for two days.
I also have four more loads that need to be washed, and unfortunately, it will all end up piled in the exact same spot, getting more wrinkled by the minute as it's pushed from side to side in order to make room for some lazy person who just can't be bothered with it.
That lazy person would be me.
Oh, and speaking of laundry, did you know that adding a 17 month old child to an already full house exponentially increases the amount of dirty clothes laying on the floor in the laundry room? It's true. And I think I've even heard it curse me when I walk by.
Or maybe I'm cursing it. I can't be quite sure at this point.
Either way, I have become convinced that laundry is something created by the devil. I will even go so far as to say that it just might be what hell is really like. Can you imagine spending all of eternity in a poorly lit laundry room that smells of dirty boys, soiled pants and sweaty cycling jerseys? And the only thing that would keep you sane in the midst of the endless suffering would be knowing that you are not alone when you hear distant voices saying, "WHAT THE...WHO KEEPS FILLING UP THIS LAUNDRY BASKET?"
There is the possiblity that everybody will experience their own personal version of hell. If that's the case, then my version would be sitting a little row boat that is perpetually sinking into a sea of mayonnaise. But that's stemming from an entirely different set of issues that I have.
Oh well, I suppose I should just get off this computer and face the devil that is piled on my couch, but... wait a minute...I think I hear Naomi waking up from her nap. Could you give me a second while I go check on her?
Yes, she's awake and guess what has just been added to the laundry room floor...
Another pair of soiled pants.
Goodbye Forever.
Anna
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