My family is either exceptionally clean or exceptionally dirty. We'd have to be very dirty to create the amount of washing we do. On the other hand, with the amount of washing we do, we must be exceptionally clean.
Of course when I say "we" do washing I am using the Royal We. We equals I, obviously. There's a fair bit of learned helplessness going on here - if I do it badly enough she won't ask again. Call me old fashioned but I do think pegs are a minimum requirement for hanging out washing. My husband disagrees. I don't think my son knows what a peg is.
But I digress. Washing. I think it breeds when I am not watching, which probably better than it breeding when I am watching because that would be just weird. The cycle of collecting clothes from the floor, loading the machine, hanging out, bringing in, folding and putting away is a bit like painting the Story Bridge - just as you finish it's time to start again.
It just makes me wonder how people survived when Monday was wash day. Perhaps they were just cleaner. Perhaps the were just dirtier.Whatever. Aren't we just so lucky to live in a time where we have been liberated by all these labour saving devices?
Washing. The bane of my existence!
ReplyDeleteYou have those flash plastic numbers wow, I think ours are carved from Pine Birch felled in China
ReplyDeleteBut far far worse than washing is what follows, that BLOODY ironing......
he he he, I have a well trained husband for that bit
ReplyDeleteLove this shot hun, really interesting and well done
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