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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?
Wash-a-geddon.
We’ve just got back from two weeks away and that means two weeks worth of washing to catch up on, what fun….
It’s not going to end well…
I cant stand going back for something if I think I can carry it, even if it’s too heavy or awkward. It was all going really well until I got stuck in the doorway and my washing exploded.
Adventures in Hoovering (continued)
This is another recent addition, the hoover is now seen as the enemy, to be defeated at all costs…
Mc Skivvy.
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).
Doodlemum 