Have I mentioned that I hate Sundays? I always have. And now, in my epic, futile battle for those elusive zzz's, my Sunday seriously lasted 745 hours.
On my honour, here is my completed list:
Oh for shame, my refrigerator is blushing in humiliation under all that shit, not to mention suffocating:
OMG that's so much better, and we won't die without 50 million coupons:
Clean surfaces clean surfaces clean surfaces!:
The dreaded, and I mean DREADED, appliance cupboard. And since when is Scrabble an appliance:
The domestic version of a ship in a bottle? How in the hell did a cake pedestal end up in this 1" high drawer? Um, yeah, I closed it. I'm a clean demon not a fucking magician yo!:
It's never as hard as you think (3 minutes, after two weeks of procrastinating):
Todd built a patio. In two hours. That's the same:
Suuure, they'd rather play on the new patio than in my newly cleaned cupboard. Traitors:
Oh, and he readied what was formerly all gravel for some sort of garden wonderland:
Not bad for the Sunday that wouldn't die.