I love not going to work. I'm sure the novelty of staying home would wear off, but today... nah.
I slept late. I caught up on corespondence (okay, I facebooked.) I watched a minute of The View (sooo annoyingly wonderful!) I read a little. I wrote a lot.
It was three in the afternoon before I knew it. I had smoked the better part of a pack of cigarettes. Where did the day go? I had to hurry to get to the bank to make my car payment. My husband called from work to ask if I would take our comforter or bedspread or whatever you call it, to the laundromat because it is too big to go in our washing machine, and did I remember that our dog puked on it the other day? Yes, I remembered, but I was trying to ignore it, to pretend it wasn't balled up in a corner in our bedroom, starting to smell a little funny. (In my defense, I had taken a couple of swipes at the pukey area with some wet paper towels, and it wasn't a ton of puppy puke or anything... don't get overly grossed out for no reason.)
So, I went, detergent in tow, and read an old issue of Louisville Magazine while my favorite purple blanket went round and round in the soap suds. I thought about how it might have been nice of my husband to wash the thing over the weekend while I was out of town visiting my grandma. I thought about what it would be like to be a housewife, to know I was expected to do this kind of laundrying on a regular basis, to have a husband who expected to come home to a house that was spic-and-span. That would suck.
After the laundomat, I hurried home to start normal laundry and do the dishes. I was still unloading the dishwasher when my husband got home from work.
"What's for dinner, dear?"
Very funny. He knows I never cook -- especially not when I'm on vacation. I've sent him to hunt and gather dinner. I'm supposed to be folding socks right now.
I slept late. I caught up on corespondence (okay, I facebooked.) I watched a minute of The View (sooo annoyingly wonderful!) I read a little. I wrote a lot.
It was three in the afternoon before I knew it. I had smoked the better part of a pack of cigarettes. Where did the day go? I had to hurry to get to the bank to make my car payment. My husband called from work to ask if I would take our comforter or bedspread or whatever you call it, to the laundromat because it is too big to go in our washing machine, and did I remember that our dog puked on it the other day? Yes, I remembered, but I was trying to ignore it, to pretend it wasn't balled up in a corner in our bedroom, starting to smell a little funny. (In my defense, I had taken a couple of swipes at the pukey area with some wet paper towels, and it wasn't a ton of puppy puke or anything... don't get overly grossed out for no reason.)
So, I went, detergent in tow, and read an old issue of Louisville Magazine while my favorite purple blanket went round and round in the soap suds. I thought about how it might have been nice of my husband to wash the thing over the weekend while I was out of town visiting my grandma. I thought about what it would be like to be a housewife, to know I was expected to do this kind of laundrying on a regular basis, to have a husband who expected to come home to a house that was spic-and-span. That would suck.
After the laundomat, I hurried home to start normal laundry and do the dishes. I was still unloading the dishwasher when my husband got home from work.
"What's for dinner, dear?"
Very funny. He knows I never cook -- especially not when I'm on vacation. I've sent him to hunt and gather dinner. I'm supposed to be folding socks right now.
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