Tiny Underpants

Hi blog friends!!! Should I call you that??? No? It's the worst thing ever??? I have to agree with you, it is... Not only is it super lame, but it's also a little sad.

Let's start over...

Happy blog day, everyone!!! Oh, that's bad, too??? Uuuuug!!! Don't worry, I'm keeping it short today. I won't subject my sweet readers to a long day of bad blog. Just a short one.

I spent my day in abject frustration. I didn't sit down for more than 10 minutes, yet my house looks like a badger got into and tore it a-freakin' part. Why a badger? Because they're mean, that's why.

As I was circling my house, amazed that it was still capable of being messy after I had cleaned it within an inch of its life not 20 minutes before, I realized something...

I have spent my entire day picking up tiny pairs of underpants off the floor.

Every couch cushion I turn over, what do I find? A pair of underpants. As I'm sweeping under my couch... Whoops! Uh-oh! How did those little undies get under there? Think you're going to dust the coffee table? Nope, not until you move those underpants off of it!

Listen, I'm not just infuriated by the underpants. They're a metaphor, really. A metaphor for something... Um... A metaphor for the fact that I freaking work all day long and have nothing to show for it except another tiny pair of underpants under the couch mocking me!!! Mocking my sore feet and sweaty brow. Saying, with their very presence, "Ha! You're never going to be done cleaning. NEVER!!!"

Tiny underpants. As the mother of two daughters, I suppose I must simply resign myself to the fact that this is my lot in life. To pick up the tiny underpants of the world and never stop. Never give up. Fight until I can turn over a couch cushion and not find underwear.

Oh, who am I kidding? This is a battle I can't win. I'm just going to be happy with the fact that my kids like to wear clean underwear and call it a day.