At long last, my day of Laundry Hell is done. I have conquered Mount Washmore, and I can proudly say that every scrap of laundry in my M.F. house is done! My bitterness has subsided, and I can now proclaim the following:
1) Nobody in my house is allowed to wear ANYTHING for the next couple of days,
2) I actually love Hermione Granger, and Dobby, and believe fully in the Promotion of Elvish Welfare,
3) In fact, if an elf were to choose of his or her own accord to come and live with me and be my laundry-elf, his or her welfare would be of utmost concern to me. You would be treated like royalty (except for the laundry part). We’re talkin’ chocolates every day, your own comfy little bed, and the latest in elvish fashion will adorn you.
4) I’m just sayin’, it’s something to think about….
Today is laundry day… ugh.
You see, somewhere along my chosen path of having babies and running my get-rich-slow scheme of making handmade kids’ clothes, I forgot to pursue a high-paying career. You know, the one wherein I can hire someone else to do my laundry for me. Laundry is the absolute worst part of being a SAHM. When I see it piling up day after day, I imagine that there is a house-elf living with us whose main objective in life is to do our laundry (to my specifications, thank you very much), and to fold it and put it away just exactly the way I like it. I think the kids must have given the house-elf an old onesie or something because he seems to have been freed and gone away, as evidenced by the huge pile of dirty laundry in front of the washing machine. Also, the basket of clean laundry that has been sitting in the basket unfolded for the last couple of weeks collecting cat hair hasn’t been touched. I blame Hermione Granger for this.
I WANT MY DAMN HOUSE ELF.