Yesterday, I woke up at 10am feeling great and I had an extremely productive day. Go Joey, Go!
I told The Mister last night, “I won’t be doin any housework tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He looked around, “The house doesn’t need to be cleaned.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t. I’m just sayin, those two shirts won’t be ironed, dishes won’t be done, not bakin any bread.”
Today, I woke up at 10am feeling great, but having a completely different plan.
My plan for today?
Hehe — to be LAZY!
Today, they all went away.
I was all alone.
In the quiet.
For hours and hours.
With coffee and carrot cake.
I baked that last night. Cause I like carrot cake for breakfast. Just scrape the icing off onto the next slice, and it becomes a square muffin.
I painted my nails a new color, called Ginger Zinger. I like it. It’s coral and springy, but cheerfully subdued.
I read the draft of a friend’s novel.
I reported this to The Mister, who has been reading Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia for the last four days. I said, “I read a book today.”
“Of course you did.”
“Yes, I read 761 pages, 161,000 words. Took me the better part of seven hours.”
“Uh huh. I hate you,” he said.
I like to brag to him about things I do better or faster than him, because I have low-skills-esteem in comparison.
I didn’t shower. I did brush my teeth, moisturize, and put on clean pajamas — because lazy, but still a woman.
I dipped my pita bread directly into the hummus container, but I did put the olives in a bowl.
I didn’t do any dishes. Hell, I didn’t even put any clean ones away!
I did make the swate tay today, because depriving these people of swate tay is akin to depriving me of soda.
As we all know, that IS how housewives become prostitutes.
“Who do I hafta screw to get a goddamn soda?”
I’ll eat bales of shredded wheat, thanks.
The girls will apparently eat fortune cookies, yogurt, oatmeal, bagels, honeydew, bananas, and clementines.
I’m roasting The Mister a bagel sammich while I write this post and drink my Cheerwine.
When’s the last time you had a lazy day?
More delicious than carrot cake, ain’t it?