May 19, 2009
Of all the domestic duties staring me in the face each morning, its the pile of washing that has the filthiest glare.
The washing and I have a very uneasy relationship. The more we see of each other, the better it behaves ... but the worse my demeanour. Conversely, when I decide we need a little space between us, it turns into an attention-seeking monster. While its possible to firmly close the laundry door and ignore it, the lack of fresh clothes and linen is a little harder to hide.
There only just so many times can you proffer: sponge it off; one more wear won't kill you; turn it round; turn it inside out.
Some people dream of wealth or fame or marrying a chef. For me, its the dream of an unending supply of pressed business shirts, clean preschooler jeans and fresh bedsheets. Ah, the luxury of not needing to face the washing machine every day. That, friends, would make me a very happy woman indeed.
So I'm dreaming big; starting small. Liberation is in my sights.
The rest of the family think this is some special bed linen sewn for Bargy. Don't tell them, but its really the first step in my break for freedom ...
Fitted-bedsheet in "Look and Learn Storybook" by American Jane for Moda