Played the dishtowel yesterday.
After strangling ever milligram of my meds out of me, life tossed my soiled and limp remains into the corner and left me to rot on a pile of forgotten dirty socks. 19 more words
It’s nice that my sense of smell is back as it kept mr. Parker from burning the brownies he made this morning.
Regaining your sense of smell is amazing, you realise how some food smells a lot better, your clothes smell nice and fresh instead of hashy, how flowers actually have a smell, even the most delicate, but there’s a dark side. 48 more words
My brother and I were notorious for never putting our dirty underwear and socks in the laundry basket.
After what must have seemed to her like years of scolds and threats, my mother got so tired of this habit that she began to stuff the dirty clothes under our pillows thinking that we would find this offensive if not offensively odiferous. 210 more words
So we all know that it’s a given when you become a mum that you fall spectacularly to the bottom of the pile.
And I’m not talking of the laundry variety – although come to think of it, making sure the other half has clean socks (while also juggling children, work deadlines, school commitments…) is obviously ‘more important’ than you actually getting the chance to eat lunch. 598 more words