Something to get your Friday off to a good start… a post from Barb Taub on adulting.. and serious stuff like buying a fridge that holds enough marital aids and creating an alien chicken dish… enjoy…I did.
I hate housework! You make the beds, you do the dishes—and six months later you have to start all over again.—Joan Rivers
Before I was married, I shared an apartment with two of my cousins. We swore an oath: if calamity were to befall any of us, the survivors would rush home and make the victim’s bed, do her dishes, and burn her letters** before mothers and aunts arrived on the scene. **[Clearly, this all occurred in the days when chips only came in potato or poker flavors, instead of micro.]
If you think becoming a mother made me more relaxed about my own mother’s visits, then either you are a husband or you have a very good cleaning lady. Take the time Mother called to say she was coming for a brief visit. Although I’d been eating lunch when she called, somehow by the time she hung…
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