It’s nine o’clock and I’m still home in my jammies. I’m waiting for the dryer to get done so I can grab a pair of shorts and head out the door to work. It’s probably looking like I won’t get in until ten at the earliest. I’m feeling rather dumb about it.
Last night, after getting home from the Cheap Monday Night Dinner Group, I gathered up a load of dirty clothes and threw them into the washer. After the washer was done, I even made a point of running downstairs and tossing the wet clothes into the dryer. (Of course, this was after reminding Precious that the dryer wasn’t a kitty hiding spot and got her out of there.) Then I went back upstairs and went to bed. The truly observant (and those who just know me so well) might note that I didn’t say anything about starting the dryer. That’s because I didn’t. So when I got up this morning and went downstairs to get the rest of the clothes I needed to go to work, I discovered everything was still wet. So I have about an hour to ninety minutes of down time while I wait for today’s outfit to finish drying.