There is a mountain of clothes staring at me in the corner of my room. Sir Fredrick climbed it earlier. Must be some chihuahua humor I've not yet learned to appreciate. Jerk.
The new dish washing liquid I purchased a week ago says it's supposed to soften my hands with each use. Is that some twisted form of motivation to get me to wash dishes more? Epic fail.
Laundry is the devil. Doing the dishes is its concubine. They can all kick rocks tonight.
Where is the Rosie robot maid from The Jetsons when you need her?
-kj
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