A pile of laundry sat on my dinning room table, staring at me, since Sunday afternoon. A wicked lump that refused to move, it taunted me daily. I’d set things on the table, only to have them completely engulfed and lost within a matter of minutes. I tried to explain to the pile how busy I was, but it didn’t care. It only laughed in my face when I tried to explain that I’ve been working really hard this week. It scoffed at me when I told it that I’ve been going to physical therapy every night to get my back fixed. It just rolled its laundry eyes when I told it I had a migraine. It even mocked me when I tried to tell it that the little free time I had was spent running errands. The pile was ruthless and cold hearted.
Beaten and belittled, yesterday in between writing an angry letter to BP and and making dinner, I finally decided to kick that pile of laundry in its laundry nuts. A tremendous battle ensued. We fought for what seemed like forever. Lives and socks were almost lost! However, in the end I tamed that wild beast of a pile and I was able to finally get all those clothes hung up and put away.
“Victory!”, I yelled as I raised my arms into the air.
The melee was finally over and I had won.
