Feeling: grungy
Listening to: Vienna Teng - Unwritten Letter No. 1
Reading/Watching: The Great Hunt, Robert Jordan

I am having a standoff with my laundry basket.

We have been eyeing each other for the past week, daring the other to blink first. I keep stretching my wardrobe just a little bit further, wearing pants (and sometimes skirts) that I haven't worn in months, making daring ensemble choices (beige pinstripe slacks with a black Coldplay t-shirt: who would've thought?), and basically putting off doing laundry for as long as I possibly can, because the pile in the laundry basket stubbornly refuses to shrink.

The longer I go inventing new color combinations, the more the basket smugly piles higher, until my blouses can't hang straight from the closet bar anymore, because the clothing mountain is reaching geographic proportions and nudging them out of the way.

The more desperately I need to do laundry, the less I want to do it. This is my eternal struggle.

But now I'm down to my very last pair of decent underwear (all that's left is the waist of a pair of pantyhose with the legs cut off, and a days-of-the-week thong that says Monday). The standoff must end, before innocent people (or olfactory nerves) get hurt.

Sigh. Guess I'll start with a load of whites, and sweet talk (a.k.a. seduce) mon coeur into trading out the washer and dryer loads while I'm sleeping.

Comments? 1 so far...
Not a Diaryland member? Sign the Guestbook.