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I realize you're probably still wicked pissed off about me moving again. I know the second-floor laundry room in our ginormous Texas house was a dream come true for you. Except that the kitty litter boxes were in there; sorry about that. And I know being once again relegated to the basement is upsetting, especially since the kitty litter boxes are still with you.
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Randy is like this. Only bitchier. |
The thing is, Randy, and this is really the important take-home message: you're kind of a dick. You keep making the laundry multiply (WTF with the moldy pool towels?). Then when I'm actually caught up on laundry, no one thanks me. I know they think you are magically providing them with clean, folded clothes that mysteriously show up in their drawers each week with a wave of your "Clean Linen"-scented wand.
So you totally deserve the kitty litter boxes.
I'd like to point out that when I choose, I can keep up with the laundry. When it's important, like when I'm selling a house, or packing for vacation, or when I have insomnia and nothing else to do at 3 a.m. because I don't have cable. It's just that (and don't hate me here, Randy) laundry is pretty low on my priority list. I have four kids and frankly I'd rather play with them and/or surf Facebook than keep up with the ever-increasing mountain of sweaty summer clothes and chlorine-infused towels.

I'd show pictures of my current laundry area, because I am actually caught up on laundry at the moment, but the basement in my itty-bitty rental house is pretty gnarly, and I'd rather not share. Just trust me that there are five empty laundry baskets in this house right now.
Suck it, Randy.
xoxo,
stark. raving. mad. mommy.
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