(no subject)

[wits_gulag]

I dearly hate doing laundry. There are so many things one must remember. This material needs to be washed in cold, this one in warm. This one can be washed in both, but it has to spin cycle on luke-warm. This fluffy thing here can't be washed with silk because they have to be washed at different temperatures, which are like three degrees apart, but if not done right the silk comes out fluffy, and the fluffy no longer exists. Then the ultimate in is the disrespect the brights have for the colors and vice versa. Colors can be cool with brights sometimes, if they are a bit dark, or they have been through the cycle enough times. But the brights, oh they are a surly bunch. One dark red washcloth falls into the pile of brights and whites, and suddenly everything is stained with its little washclothy blood. Everything is pink! After the massaccre you find one simple sock, all alone and unstained. He aloned excaped. But where is the other sock? The one he is paired with? Its wandered off, taken by those bleedin' heart sock gnome liberals! And of course they drag that other sock to some where in West Palm for most of the time, giving a little time now and then for visitation. Oh, the lonely sock. How horrid his companion must feel, bored and stuck with a bunch of laundry gnomes. Bah! Well to the point, I miss the little woman and want her to hurry home so I can make my crappy little dinner, and hope the effort in it makes her happy. Hurry home baby. *winks* Oscar will keep your side of the bed warm.
Love and traditional hand gestures of the streets,
Pink WombatSquirrel

P.S. Just so I don't scare the little woman, no I did not stain any of the laundry bright pink... But your favorite bra is now orange, hope you don't mind.