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Battlestations!
Aug. 21st, 2025 07:50 pmOr rather the aftermath of battle, actually.
We're done with the carpets for another year. They're still somewhat wet, so we're housing in a sauna at the moment - a rather cold one. Because when should temperatures drop eleven degrees from one day to another if not on the day several square miles of carpet need to dry? Not to mention that is also rained in and out during half the morning and all afternoon; also not the best for drying stuff. Ah, well, another day will take care of the rest.
Of course, the lace curtains needed to be washed, too, because this is the one time of the year when somebody would hang them up, since I cannot. That would require a third hand with which I'd hold on for dear life on the fourth rung of the ladder. Otherwise I'd never get any higher than rung two. As Mrs Parkinson's Law states, every woman who has less than three hands officially counts as a cripple.
Still, the majority of things has been put back in their places, including the sixpacks of mineral water and ginger ale, so the worst part is behind me. Tomorrow I'll have to go to the bank and make a grocery run, plus we're changing beds and washing the bedlinens - another day full of joy and serenity - but I told Mum that I refuse to touch anything in the dratted flat for the following two weeks. (I'm sure she'll manage to navigate around that statement, but it's the principle of the thing.)
We're done with the carpets for another year. They're still somewhat wet, so we're housing in a sauna at the moment - a rather cold one. Because when should temperatures drop eleven degrees from one day to another if not on the day several square miles of carpet need to dry? Not to mention that is also rained in and out during half the morning and all afternoon; also not the best for drying stuff. Ah, well, another day will take care of the rest.
Of course, the lace curtains needed to be washed, too, because this is the one time of the year when somebody would hang them up, since I cannot. That would require a third hand with which I'd hold on for dear life on the fourth rung of the ladder. Otherwise I'd never get any higher than rung two. As Mrs Parkinson's Law states, every woman who has less than three hands officially counts as a cripple.
Still, the majority of things has been put back in their places, including the sixpacks of mineral water and ginger ale, so the worst part is behind me. Tomorrow I'll have to go to the bank and make a grocery run, plus we're changing beds and washing the bedlinens - another day full of joy and serenity - but I told Mum that I refuse to touch anything in the dratted flat for the following two weeks. (I'm sure she'll manage to navigate around that statement, but it's the principle of the thing.)
