like. a. little. freakin'. baby.
The one about "Horace?"
Here's an update.
I haven't been able to teach him how to do my laundry.
In fact, I think he hates me for throwing
countless whatever-is-within-reach items at him.
How do I know this?
I walked downstairs to the basement last night
to throw some scrubs into the wash for work next week.
What do I see waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs?
Not one, not two, not three
but FOUR Horaces.
With tiny pitchforks and torches in their hands
as if to say,
"Hey Lady, you wanna mess with us?"
What did I do?
I started crying.
And carrying on like a small child.
And screaming for my husband.
Who probably thought I was having a heart attack
what with all the screaming and carrying on nonsense.
Hubs, er, Prince Charming,
er, my Knight in Shining Armor
quickly came to my rescue and
squashed those tiny (GIANT) buggers with this
month's JCREW catalog. (le sigh).
Only after he could catch his breath-
what with all the laughing he was doing.
At my expense, of course.
I hate my basement.
And doing laundry.