A Typical Friday

It’s Friday!  You know what that means.  Another chapter in the Chronicles of the Reluctant Housewife.

I have to make this quick today.  There is a load of wet, recently finished laundry sitting in the machine waiting to be hung up.  In a wildly optimistic and, I thought, well-planned move, I started the laundry as soon as I got up.  My thinking was that in an hour, when the cycle finished, I would have had my cup of coffee, caught up on my emails, read my paper and blog and be ready to jump in the shower at the exact moment the washer stopped.  Ha!

The timing here is semi-crucial.  Okay, not really as I have all the time in the world, but let me have my fantasies.  The content of the machine is Pete’s work shirts.  Every Friday morning (casual day) I wash his shirts for the week and they hang in the bathroom from the shower curtain rail for a day (or two), then get ironed and are ready for Monday (or Tuesday).  The issue is space.  Because I have gone on a recent shopping binge due to an extended shopping strike when I wasn’t making money and couldn’t fit into anything (I’m still not making money, but I can now fit into some pretty cute items), our shared wardrobe is bursting and Pete can no longer fit his work shirts in the wardrobe without negating the hour I spend ironing them.  This means they stay on the curtain rail in the bathroom for almost the entire week and have to be shifted from the rail to the hook on the back of the door every time one wants to shower.  If they are shifted while still wet, they get weird stains from the untreated wood of the door and the process starts over again.  To make a long story short, I had to get into the shower just as the washer stopped so they could be hung relatively soon after washing (themselves and myself) which makes ironing a bit easier.  But they finished 20 minutes ago and I’m still here writing.  So it goes.

This is my life.  I know you are jealous.

In other household news, we seem to have a bit of a spider take-over.  In the last week, the spiders have become brazen in their web-weaving.  Just this morning Pete had to rescue his shorts from their sticky clutches (he only took them out last night) and over the course of my morning routine I have watching one make a fairly impressive net stretching from the arm of our couch to the floor, taking in the neighbouring door as well.  That’s not to mention the close call Pete had the other morning as we was leaving the house.  Luckily he notice the rather large spider hovering in the hallway before he walked face-first into her trap. 

I know what you’re thinking.  Just kill them and get it over with.  I hear you, but I grew up in a house that was honour-bound to respect spiders and their weaving ways.  Part of my double-barrel name is ‘Webb’ after all.  I’m hoping it’s just a phase and they will move on in a few days.  If I suddenly stop writing, you might want to send someone over as we may be swaddled and in danger of becoming dinner ala Mirkwood and The Hobbit, or Shelob and Frodo if you prefer the trilogy. 

This probably won’t happen, though.  Pete just cleaned out our bagless vacuum, The Goblin and it has sucking power to rival a Dyson. 

I’m guessing. 

I have not yet been blessed with a Dyson.