Just another day

Yesterday was laundry day. I hate it. It’s the only day that my husband and I are both free to do clothes. He carries them down and I wash, dry, and fold or hang them up, and he carries them back upstairs. It’s an ordeal. Not because clothes are so hard, but because I can’t lift, can’t carry, can’t do any of those things that make chores easy.

It’s also our big shopping day, but my knee, the good one, is bad and so he went alone. He bought way too much junk food. I put the groceries up, and he stands behind me explaining why we need so much ice cream and those cookies were on sale and the pie is like homemade. I say but do we really need the extra calories, and he says well no but we do need rewards for good behavior, and I say that food isn’t a reward but a fuel and the sooner he starts treating it as such the more weight he and I will lose. Simple as that.

After all our Sunday work was done, I tried to finish the novel that I am reading for my 20th cent American Lit., but it is so boring, and I am thinking why am I reading this?, and then I remember the pages left to translate in my Latin book, so I do my Latin and leave my lit alone. I have less than 48 hours to read of this extremely political boring book. But on the bright note, laundry and shopping are done, and my Latin is done.