Full disclosure: this post does not relate to the prescribed schedule put forth by the editor, nor does it really have any point to it at all.
I hate laundry. And washing dishes. And putting clean sheets on the bed. I did all of these things tonight begrudingly because it's MY JOB. I was one of those worker bees who was just going through the motions with no joy or conviction, which ironically, I had been lamenting that exact kind of person earlier in the day.
[remove old pillowcases]
[get new pillowcases]
[wrestle pillows into new pillowcases]
[rustle remaining fabric looking for fitted sheet]
[unfurl fitted sheet]
[turn fitted sheet 3 times because can't figure out which way fitted sheet fits on bed]
[tuck corners of fitted sheet around mattress]
Kate: What the f$%^ is that?
[reach hand under newly stretched sheet to remove large lump in middle of bed]
Kate: SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Yes, I literally squealed. Right after putting the girls to bed. Didn't care.
The lump? One of my lost things. The super kick-ass, totally plain, yet yay-black-and-white-stripes, made-my boobs-look-awesome shirt.
That's been missing for A YEAR.
Yeah, the shirt that I lost on this great trip to Chicago where The G and I demonstrated we have no idea how to take a picture together, but my pants match the art in the background, so it's okay.

The trip where I also took my favorite photos ever and found these cute shoes at Old Navy which APPARENTLY DIDN'T EXIST AT ANY OTHER OLD NAVY IN THE WORLD.
And I got new business cards.
Boom. Great day.




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