It's laundry day.

It's laundry day.

Oh Sunday. The day of rest where, around here, we do close to nothing of the sort save about 2 hours for a good football game on the boob tube. We do laundry, grocery shopping, the dreaded Costco run, vacuuming, cleaning toilets, and crafting, if there's time to breathe. Since Husfriend is a crazy, amazing radio host every Sunday morning, (tune in here, Sundays 8a-10a) and has potential breakfast foods named after him that he's never eaten let alone knows what they consist of, it's damn near impossible to get anything done before 10am without my partner in crime to wrangle the Nugget. He's exponentially more hyper on Sunday mornings. Maybe it's just my neurosis convincing me he's more hyper. Agnes* whispers some odd things sometimes.

In my personal opinion, laundry trumps all the other household chores as being the most dreaded. I'm thinking of getting trophies and plaques to hang in my laundry room expressing its very victory over the others. You know, instead of catchy signs that shout, "LAUNDRY" or "Drop your pants here." I think its far more fitting to hang a plaque that reads, "First Place Overall for the Shittiest Household Chore: 2009". Ooh, perhaps I'll fashion my washing machine an oversized medal to hang around its neck that proclaims it's the "#1 Sonuvabitch Appliance". Done.

But honestly, I'd much rather gag into a disgusting toilet or touch wax-laden Q-tips that didn't quite make it into the trash can in the bathroom (because, really, where else would your toilet and bathroom trash be, right?!), than do laundry. I know, I know. Laundry is a no-brainer. Set the dials, add the soap, toss in the clothes, press start. Switch to dryer, hang delicates. Repeat as necessary. It could very well be the tedious, brainlessness that deters me from embracing the chore. Let's just chock it up to, "Laundry Sucks."

So we're good then?

Good.

*Agnes: My new imaginary, doesn't really exist to me, alter ego who only speaks in whispers and whom I'm convinced the crazy comes from.