I use to call it my mountain, but in recent weeks it has developed lava like attributes. It is spreading. Not slowly, but with huge a explosions, that double in size with a blink. I try to clear it. I do my best. I cleared the lot last night, but this morning it has returned and currently it is falling off the super king size bed and tumbling onto the floor already.
How on Earth do we create so much of it? I restrict myself to the uniform of jeans and top. The children are known for looking less than clean after luncheoning. If I didn't know better I would suspect some naughty housewife sneaking their clothes into my wash bins.
If I wanted to iron, I have no idea when I would actually be able to iron. It is a night time sport as it is far too dangerous to embark on with small children in the vicinity. How do those yummy Mummies manage to look so pristine and crisp and so do their children? I stand in awe as they glide into the playground, not a hair out of place, huge enormous white smiles and children skipping happily.
Oh, I'm having the wash day blues! Shall potter over to twitter and see what tunes are suggested to ease my angst. @pembsdave or @thegrimweeder always seem to have a cheesy collection on offer.
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1 comments:
OMG I think you have come to my house. My washing mountain has spread so that it covers the floor beside the overflowing washing baskets (note plural) and now I don't know what is clean and what is not.
I am so with you on the ironing. I just do not understand when other people get to iron. Evenings are too precious to waste on doing this when all I need is a glass of wine and to rest my weary legs.
Susy
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