It laughs at me.
Taunts me.
Belittles me and calls me names.
The dryer.
I scoffs at me.
Turns up its nose and cackles.
Shakes a fist and asks if I want a knuckle sandwich.
As if they are better than me.
As if they know me.
YOU DON'T KNOW ME!
As if the fact that my laundry has never been completely finished in the two years I've been married has an effect on my ability to actually get it done.
As if the occasion in high school when my dad moved all my dirty clothes out to the back of my car, tossed in a roll of quarters and told me to go to the laundry mat would get me down.
As if the fact that I never went to the laundry mat and just lived out of the back of my car for a month would cause me to continue to live from load to load, never filling a closet with clean clothes but only digging through plastic baskets.
As if the horror that "laundry" has topped my To-Do list for the past 10 years of my life never getting crossed off would stop me now.
As if any of that had any hold on me.
As if.
Today the washer and dryer felt the wrath of The Pregnant Thunder.
I got after that mountainous pile of laundry like I was due to have a child any day now and had nothing better to do to than karate chop that gargantuan mess like it was my job. It also served as a good form of butt-kicking therapy given the current Chet issue.
FEEL THE HEAT AND PRODUCTIVITY OF THE PREGNANT THUNDER YOU INSOLENT BEAST!
That's right.
All of my laundry is done.
Everything.
And I laugh in the face of my washer and dryer.
The End.
YAY!!! Nice work, my dear!
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