Laundry and The Labrador

I did not make it to IKEA. I did not finish my laundry. I did not unpack. Except the dirty laundry. I got that pulled out of the bag and shoved in the pile on the floor with the rest of the dirty laundry.

I did not mop.
I did not sweep.
I did not dust.
I will not sleep.

Wait. Stop. I’m channeling Dr. Seuss. Must… Stop…. Rhyming…

Tonight, I had what we might call a massive productivity failure. It wasn’t that my intentions were bad. I really did mean to go to IKEA. But by the time I was ready, it was 4:30. Which meant it would have been nearing rush hour. And rush hour in Austin is something that one doesn’t do unless one is crazy… um… crazier than I am. Which is really saying something.

I thought, I’ll go to IKEA tomorrow. I’ll do my laundry tonight. I will handwash and fold and remove the labrador hair. It will be glorious.

I got as far as piling the laundry up in my floor. I ordered chinese and decided to make a night of it. And then I came back from the closet and found this.

Why yes, that is my underwear. And yes, that is my Labrador, looking at it lovingly. Let’s see if I can alliterate a few more times in this sentence, shall we? Big L, Little L, what begins with L? Lovingly looking Labradors, lust after lurid laundry.

Ack. I’m channeling Seuss again.

I’m not sure what Cooper was trying to tell me, but a few things came to mind.

I need a bath, mom. Put me in with the laundry.

Gee, mom, your laundry stinks. Why haven’t you washed it?

There’s a raincoat in this pile, dimwit. You don’t wash those in the machine.

He’s certainly got a point with that first thought. After splashing through the pond in Lockhart, and rolling in the sawdust, he smells worse than the laundry does. And he makes me sneeze. It’s a good thing I love him.

He isn’t far off on that second one either. And why there was a raincoat in my dirty laundry basket, I couldn’t tell you. I sat down to ponder this, and finally decided that I didn’t care. I didn’t care about the raincoat. Or the laundry. Or the fact that the Labrador wanted to eat my dirty underwear. Nope. I didn’t care at all. I gave up, and sprawled out on the laundry pile with him.

He was quite content to crawl between my legs and pass out. I was quite content to play Family Feud on Facebook (Big F, Little F, what begins with F?)  while talking to my girl Mellie about faces in dog-butt hair. Don’t ask. I guarantee you don’t want to know. Or ask her. She’ll tell you. It was all her fault anyway. Check out her blog. It’s awesome!

IKEA will wait for tomorrow. I just hope I don’t fall asleep in the laundry pile before then.



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