Thoughts while holding a washing basket.
1. Where’s my peg basket?
2. Who put tissues in their pocket?
3. That tree looks beautiful.
4. I’m tired.
5. Are star shorts appropriate?
I fought the tree…
…and this year, (thanks to new super strength garden loppers), I won!
It’s not going to end well…
Pick your battles wisely…
Hello my old friend.
Drat, foiled again. Will have to resort to dishwasher tetris
Good drying weather.
I think, therefore I wash…
Mop around the clock.
A mopping montage….
Adventures in Hoovering (continued)
They pay people to do this in MacDonalds, they go round sweeping up cold chips and bits of nugget mixed in with whatever else gets dropped on the floor. Little dustpans and brushes on long sticks so you don’t have to bend down.
I got myself one with a pretty pattern on. It was a weak moment and I had my guard down and I bought into the shop’s subliminal message that all household objects have to have a pretty pattern on it.
Maybe someone’s vain attempt to make such a mundane and soul destroying job more aestheticly pleasing. (I would prefer a scene of Dante’s inferno to describe the sentiment I feel when sweeping up mashed boiled egg mixed with peppers and rice and cat hair).