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.
|Randy is like this.|
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.