a. It's been two weeks since it was last done. b. The basket in the closet is 4 feet high.
c. You are down to the "I don't really like" in your underwear drawer.
d. The non-laundering spouse starts doing it.
e. All of the above.
How do you know when you don't have anything to say? You write about dirty laundry.
How do you know when you don't have anything to say? You write about dirty laundry.
11 comments:
You are too funny. I'm a creature of habit and ritual, I do laundry every week on Monday.........yes I'm boring. But we do have clean underwear most days!
you know when it's time because you're children wear their pajama tops to school :) not that this has ever happened at my house! haha!
You know it's time to do laundry when you start doing the sniff test on dirty clothers and wearing the least stinky. Not that I have ever done that or anything....
I hear you. I need to leave this computer and do laundry today. I need to dust a vacuum too! Why won't it go away ~ this is allot more fun!
Your cousin LIVES to do laundry. Every day she does some almost every day. And she complains when I do laundry. No explanation for this except she's nuts, I guess.
Ha! That was very funny.
I hate Sundays because that is my self designated laundry day.
Laundry and dishes --is there anything worse?
Okay, so, there is but only tell that to me on a Sunday.
Peace and serenity,
~Jo
'The End Of The Rainbow: Life After Bankruptcy'
I do the laundry, my husband irons any of his that need it, but anything of mine that comes out wrinkled... becomes pajamas!
The thing to do is just go shopping. Laundry is too hard.
I knew it was time recently when I woke up to a big pile of bedding on the floor with a note lying on top of it: Dear Mrs. Howard, please wash us. Thank you, Liv's blankets.
Oops.
Funny but I wouldn't know. My daughter does most of the laundry.. lucky aren't i
I say that when the non-laundry doing spouse does the laundry, you've actually hit upon a something brilliant. Never having to do the laundry again is worth wearing underwear you don't love. (Sorry, Dad)
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