As soon as the game that The Boss and I are playing is over, I am going home. I am going to fling wide the doors and windows (because this weekend it is supposed to be in the mid-70's and because the house needs a good airing out).
(Insert random fart jokes that I couldn't keep out of my head - my status as a 35 year old woman is quickly being ruined by a 13 year old boy that apparently lives inside of my brain...airing out...heh...heh...)
Ah, yes. Flinging open the doors and windows, airing out our oppressed and reasonably short winter that lasted all of Tuesday and Wednesday and half of Thursday.
I have big plans that involve trash bags and a laundry mat (here is my reasoning - they have double and triple loaders meaning that I can do double and triple the amount of laundry in the same amount of time that it takes me to do one load at home). I am thinking of washing and drying everything, every-blankety-blank-thing in my house in one day and (since the Scare Bear has other plans and has abandoned me) hanging, folding, putting, away, setting a-fire to everything in one night.
Why?
I am tired of laundry. I am tired of the multitude of tiny piles that are laying everywhere. I am tired of telling people (big and small) to pick up their shit. So I am doing it. ONE.LAST.TIME.
Heaven help those that throw their clothes on the floor again.
New year, new slate, clean house.
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