The washer and the dryer are both full of towels. I’ll be folding up into the wee sma’s.

So what else is new?

I am a Domestic Princess/Vampire.

I might wait until there’s a mountain, but I get it done.

One of the problems is, even with both the washer and dryer full, there is still a mountain.

I have piles of dirty laundry waiting in line. The dirty socks have taken a number; they’re behind the dirty t-shirts. The dirty levis are at the end of the line. As for the dirty lingerie, well, that’s just none of your darn business. (You really don’t want details anyway, lest that scene from ‘Shallow Hal’ comes to your mind. . . . .)

Besides, how sexy could they be if I’m going to just toss them into the washer and dryer along with the socks, the t-shirts, and the levis?

Did anyone notice that “classy designer clothing” appears nowhere on my list? There’s a reason for that omission, the reason being that there aren’t any classy designer clothes in my house. There used to be, when my daughter lived here, but when she moved out she took them all with her. She has really good taste, and her closet is full of gorgeous things. It’s just as well, because I couldn’t wear her clothes after a month of fasting. Oh, I suppose I could sew two of her sweaters together and force them over my huge head and over my enormous body, but it wouldn’t be a good look for anyone. In fact, I think I just made myself ill with that image.

I mostly live in t-shirts and levis, when I’m not wearing my traditional uniform of dowdy teacher-clothes. I throw them in the washer with the levis, though. They’re tough; they can take it. Even the muslin skirts are tough.

I used to be a hippie, you know. Now, I’m just hippy.

I’m almost out of detergent but if I tear open the two little sample packages of Tide that came in the washer when we bought it three years ago, I think I can finish out the night.

It doesn’t do to substitute other kinds of soap in an appliance. I tried that once with my dishwasher and Dawn, and the dishwasher vomited up enough foam to cover the entire kitchen floor and seep through the subflooring to cover the floor of the laundry room beneath.

In other words, I did a scientific experiment, and now I know what NOT to do with dishwashing liquid.

I also know how not to dispose of corncobs even though you have a perfectly good garbage disposal.

Garbage disposals have to be coddled and treated gently, kind of like an eccentric visitor who breaks his arm at your house and you have to put up with him for a month or so. (I saw that movie but I can’t remember the actor who played my garbage disposal. . .) Sometimes, just the thought of dealing with potato peelings is too much for a sensitive garbage disposal. Other times, the disposal fairly screams “more orange peels!” at the top of his manly lungs. The problem is, I never coordinate food preparation with the eccentricities of the disposal. So I end up putting garbage in a WalMart bag and setting it out on the deck for the possums to ransack.

Possums are quite possibly the most disgusting animals in the animal kingdom. Every time I see one, with that nasty pointy face, all I can think of is a cow’s hind end with a possum’s tail sticking out of it. The Discovery Channel is responsible for many of my nightmares and disillusionments.

The house on the other side of the woods from us is covered with lights. We can’t see it in the summer, but once the leaves are gone, we can. At Christmas-time, it’s beautiful.

Thank you, unknown neighbor, for sharing your twinkly lights with me.

I hope you can see mine.

They’re for everyone, you know.

Come on over and look at them with me, why don’t you? You’d be so very welcome.

Yes, I’m talking to you. And you, too.