I’ll take a shower if you clean the bedroom…

My first blog, and my first title is the sentence I uttered to my husband before choosing a domain name. Is this what a blog is about? It must be, since this is how it is presenting itself. I look around the room… the threadbare toed Timberland sock with a coating of dog hair sits adjacent to my half full water glass. I reach for it anyway. I lift the glass to my mouth, and  out of the corner of my eye I catch my husband looking at me inquisitively, his brown eyes squinting as he searches for his glasses amongst the crinkled newspapers. Second thought, I better just head for the shower and pray for salvation. I head down the hallway as I hear the sounds of clothing being sluffed about the hardwood floor and a bureau drawer trying to be slammed shut. I laugh to myself. I look down and see the grey murky mix of dust bunnie remains on my extra long sweats. Is this what I have become on a Saturday morning? Remnants of a human that can be seen in public?  Pretty much I guess. I refuse to shower if I have to retun to a bedroom that holds the contents of nasal strips, cat toys, piles of clothing catalogues for “when I lose weight” and that lovely stentch of mildewy shoes from being worn in the snow.

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