Last night, instead of reading about traditional African theater, I did my laundry. So far, we're good. Nothing out of the ordinary. I do this all the time. This time, however, I needed to bring in EXTRA procrastination tools. That's right, I brought out the iron.
Ironing is great. Fantastic, especially if you're not the most dishevelled person in the world, rendering even the most perfectly ironed skirt or shirt a big ball of wrinkles within five seconds of putting it on your dishevelled body. Unfortunately, I am that person. Thus, I spent two hours yesterday preparing my clothes to be more perfectly wrinkled by me. I want to do the whole job. Let the washer and dryer take any credit for wrinkling my clothes? I THINK NOT. That is my job. And so I need to start with a clean, wrinkle-free canvas. Apparently. Or maybe I just didn't want to do my homework.
Also, aren't you all ridiculously jealous of my socks? You know what will make you even more jealous? The fact that I wore them to bed with boxers and a t-shirt from the farm where I used to work. That's right. I am just that fashionable.