Buried

I entered my dungeon today and did not emerge from it ll morning. My daily routine has become one of laundry and stupid television shows. I started one load of laundry and then got the TV set to "Parking Wars" on A&E. Then I sat down and dove into an almost pool of socks and underwear to sort and fold. Why do they have to make boy and girl socks look so very similar? At one point in the middle of "Dog the Bounty Hunter", one leg was covered with sorted piles of socks and the other was covered with the completed matched up and sized pair. Skivvys were on each arm of the chair and the two camis that made it past the hanger stage of laundry sorting were laying on my chest. Buried by unmentionables. This gave me a reason to take a tiny little Monday morning cat nap. I'm not proud of it. Why disrupt the perfectly lined up piles? Karma or justice or whatever came back to bite me in the rear end. My phone rang one of its assigned ring tones that is rather loud and jaunty. In my startled state, I jerked all of my limbs sending perfectly folded Hanes flying all over the basement floor. Newman!!! Serves me right. The bathtub was not going to clean itself with me snoozing in a comfy little chair, listening to Criminal Minds and the hum of the hot water heater. Serves me right.


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