Day 26?, "Project" 10: The Storm Is Over...

I did it! I folded all the laundry and put it all away! I have a couch in my bedroom, look!

Oh, and I may have overreacted about the rag-bag. I waited to fold laundry till they came out of the dryer, so I could do it all at once. But then I realized there wasn't enough shelf space for all those t-shirts, so I asked Johnny if he had any ideas. He said "Put them in a trash bag in the basement, Hon. They're only rags."

But I thought--? You said--!

He's only keeping two of them, apparently. He washed the lot because they smelled bad. Because, you know, your rags ought to smell lemony-fresh before you put them in a trash bag in the basement.

The thing is, though, I may have caught a bit of Johnny Fever. Because I found this shirt and pulled it out:

It's Van Heusen! And it's perfect! That doesn't make me as bad as Johnny, right?

You may even notice that the closet doors are closed. That's because I cleaned the closet out while I was at it (sort of -- not enough to show you pictures of the inside but enough to shut the doors). I had to. There was no place to put the clothes. And in the bottom of the closet I found this:

My Yale Shakespeare! That I got at...

the Brattle Book Shop -- on their outside shelf! For $3/book! Complete! That was like three and a half years ago and they've been sitting in that bag waiting for me to do something about them ever since. Ooh, I think I smell a shelving project for Miss Prudence...

While I was still folding clothes, Johnny had the sterile balls to come in and ask me if I'd go get him a pack of cigarettes. I was wearing sleep shorts and a wife-beater tank top without a bra (don't try to picture it, it isn't pretty) and I was sweating from all the cleaning and folding, so I told him I thought he'd live another 45 minutes until his guitar lesson was through and he could go himself (honestly, I didn't use the F word). Then I started to feel bad, and I decided that if I was done folding before he was done guitaring then I'd go.

But then I opened the closet door -- right after I took that picture -- to put the shirt away, and the door fell off the track and I had to spend the next twenty minutes in there with my flowery screwdriver trying to get it level.

He's gone now, for his own cigarettes and (I imagine) a wee pint.

So I flipped the mattresses and made the bed without him.

Aren't you proud of me?

Here's your contest for today, same prize as before (guess it right and I'll make a poem with your name): can you spot the one constant in all these couch-pictures?

Day -- hm, I seem to have gotten confused somewhere. Let's just say 26: Accomplished (yuh-huh, my Nana says so).
Time: Diana's been dead for four days, plus previews and everything.
Cost: Nothing.
Johnny Having Work Lined Up For Tomorrow So I Can Actually Do Something Around Here: Priceless (he's back, by the way: I just heard him crank up the lawn mower...)