The periods when Harlan is out of town shooting for several months, leaving me to play frazzled single mom, are very fertile when it comes to producing New Lows.

The other day I wanted to do a load of laundry, so I opened the basement door and was surprised to find that the laundry basket was not hanging on the wall where we keep it.

I thought. I pondered. I scrunched up my face. And then I remembered.

I walked my guilty ass into the den and saw it sitting there on the floor, half-full of the clothes I’d washed last week. (Or was in the week before?)

Rather than taking the time to put them away, I’d been pulling Aidan’s T-shirts, pants, socks and underwear out of the laundry basket every morning. Same for my own underwear, socks, workout clothes.

Why put them away when I’m just going to have to take them out again?

I’ve been doing the same thing with the dishwasher. Harlan isn’t home to give me grief about it, so why not?

 

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