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Sunday, July 20th, 2003 05:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caddymanI won.
It was an extremely close fought battle, and bloody. But I won.
Putting it off a week may have made sense at the time, but with hindsight it was probably less wise than expedient.
I am talking about the laundry. You, my only reader, will probably recall that last week the exciting chronicles of my life announced the fact that it was too bloody hot and that I had a couple of shirts left and so... etc etc.
This was not the case this week. And to add to the horror, the discarded garments, afester for an additional 7 days in subtropical temperatures, were showing early signs of evolving a bicameral legislature. The sock colony in the corner was at war with the shirts and had begun sending expeditionary forces under the wardrobe.
Luckily I have a pair of steel gauntlets (yes, truly) and a makeshift cudgel. In the end the issue was in no doubt, though my morale nearly failed during the onslaught of the massed ranks of underwear. Happily, they were unprepared for the flank attack with the Febreze and the enemy's battle line folded in confusion and panic.
The smoke of battle has cleared and all is well in the Garret Lea. The clothes are subdued, cleaned and folded. I shall, once it has cooled down a little, make a public example of the shirts by ironing them in front of their kin. But the rebellion is quashed.
Quashed though at a heavy price.
For it is now too late to go to Kew for the 20s picnic.
One of these weekends I shall reclaim my life and do something.
It was an extremely close fought battle, and bloody. But I won.
Putting it off a week may have made sense at the time, but with hindsight it was probably less wise than expedient.
I am talking about the laundry. You, my only reader, will probably recall that last week the exciting chronicles of my life announced the fact that it was too bloody hot and that I had a couple of shirts left and so... etc etc.
This was not the case this week. And to add to the horror, the discarded garments, afester for an additional 7 days in subtropical temperatures, were showing early signs of evolving a bicameral legislature. The sock colony in the corner was at war with the shirts and had begun sending expeditionary forces under the wardrobe.
Luckily I have a pair of steel gauntlets (yes, truly) and a makeshift cudgel. In the end the issue was in no doubt, though my morale nearly failed during the onslaught of the massed ranks of underwear. Happily, they were unprepared for the flank attack with the Febreze and the enemy's battle line folded in confusion and panic.
The smoke of battle has cleared and all is well in the Garret Lea. The clothes are subdued, cleaned and folded. I shall, once it has cooled down a little, make a public example of the shirts by ironing them in front of their kin. But the rebellion is quashed.
Quashed though at a heavy price.
For it is now too late to go to Kew for the 20s picnic.
One of these weekends I shall reclaim my life and do something.