Even though the suit debacle is finally over, I still kind of need some stress relief. Probably lingering effects from all that shopping. I took a muscle relaxer a couple of nights last week, and they helped a little, but I don’t really like to pop extraneous pills every night (I’m so happy to be down to only one regular night-time med – now if we could just do something about that epilepsy…). Of course, the next step in muscle relaxation is finding a massage therapist here. Ugh, I hate finding massage therapists. I’ve had two great ones, and I’m always afraid that no one will match up to Mary (whom I once threatened to kidnap so I could take her with me when I moved) and now Vicky (my excellent Florida therapist).

In Florida, Frank used to help when my muscles were sore by bringing me a flower delivery from Publix. Alas, there is no Publix here, and I did love their flowers. I have yet to check out the flowers at the stores we do have nearby to see if they match up. But for now, I think the man should check out the online florist and find me something pretty.

Of course, my shopping-related muscle aches and all-around moodiness are not the only reason my hubby should send flowers to his sweetie. Beside the dismal results from yesterday’s big primary (seriously, do these primary voters do the slightest amount of research into their candidates, or do they just go for the guy who talks the prettiest and the one who screws over the party the most?), there was a little incident with the laundry this morning. I promised I wouldn’t hold a grudge over it, because he apologized (as he always does for the same offense), but I’m thinking I deserve them anyway. See, we don’t have an ironing board (gave it away before we moved, and I haven’t bought a new one yet), so I make sure to get the laundry out of the dryer and fold it or hang it right away. But Frank decided he was going to do some laundry (that part was nice), and he started with the delicates, which, you know, took a good twenty minutes of coaching. And then he washed his socks next, and when I went to get some undies from the folded laundry basket this morning, I noticed that he’d just thrown the delicates in a big, wadded pile on top of the folded laundry. As wrinkled as bathtub toes. Rarr. I spent a little time this morning reminding him that he’s an adult now. :-) But I’m not mad anymore, so technically that’s not a grudge, right?

2 Responses to relax

  1. Wrinkled undies?

    unless you are diplaying them for others (I seem to remember an incident of you doing that before leaving FLA ;-) then who cares?

    Im with Frank.

  2. No no no. Delicates are anything labeled as hand-wash or gentle-cycle only. I throw them all in the washer with Woolite and liquid fabric softener. The undies, I don’t care if they’re wrinkled, and in fact, those get washed with the non-delicate clothes. So the delicates are pretty much all of my cute shirts and blouses. Things that need to be unwrinkled.