A vow of funk

All right, waiting on that washer/dryer has become sort of like a resolution now. If I haven't given in by this point and used the laundry room (and I haven't, since we're keeping score), I might as well keep my track record going.

We did get sad confirmation that our laundry service guy has quit the biz, by the way, so I have resorted to doing mini-refresher loads in the bathroom sink and then hanging them over the shower rack to dry. I did quite a number before my parents came to visit, because, you know, I didn't want them to suffer. But, hey, they're gone now, and the only people who will see (smell) us are (a) our friends (sorry, guys, but you're in this with us) and (b) all the loan people who have been holding up the process in the first place, so some of them kind of deserve it. That's not actually true, because it's really just the innocent escrow folks and our loyal and awesome agents who will see us next, but I'll pretend. I'm in this for the long haul, see, and if I give in now, maybe I'll be punished by not getting our condo after all.

If I say it's a vow, a dedication to waiting until we get those sacred keys in hand, then I've upgraded my smelliness from laziness, or stubbornness, to something holy.

Or maybe not.

Photo copyright Marjan Noback via stock.xchng


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