Thesaurus Rex (virtuistic) wrote,
Thesaurus Rex

  • Mood:

I want my man to taste like black cherries.

The title of this entry has nothing to do with the content. I just wanted to use it before I forgot. Today's topic = laundry.

Laundry day, as it turns out, actually is a very dangerous day. Who knew that Rocko's Modern Life would one day help make sense of this strange Wednesday? I woke up at 10, when Thompson called looking for Faith [btw, hon? Are you okay? Plz for to have not gotten into a horrific car accident?] and blearily began sorting laundry. In the process I tripped over beagle. I swear, she's a little furry landmine.

After I got all sorted and relatively well, I loaded up the basket, grabbed the jar of quarters, went to the closet to get the detergent and THUNK. I was hit on the head with a plant pot. It was plastic, so it wasn't like the ACME terra cotta pot of petunias that falls from on high, knocking the victim unconscious, but still. That is not something you want to get konked on the forehead with at 10:15 a.m.

The head-konk just added insult to injury, because the laundry detergent was completely not there. I would have gone to the store to get some at that moment in time, but it was storming like armageddon was just tip-toeing through the tulips, and some douchebag was mowing our lawn in a torrential downpour while our road was flooding... so it seemed against my better judgement.

Then, when I did go to the store at about noon once the storm went away, and the thunder stopped scaring the beagle half to death, I almost got smashed into by an electrical truck that blew through a stop sign. Oh, and he had the nerve to honk at me, as though I had cut him off. Oi.

Whatever. 2 loads down, three more to go.

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Tags: wtf
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