Don’t you hate it when you’ve got your day pretty well planned (even if it is cleaning, tidying, laundry and maybe - just maybe, some baking), but your husband has his own agenda, so you end up rushing to hang out clothes (at least it wasn’t raining today), then going to the recycling depot, forcing down a sausage and egger (or half of one) because you really didn’t want to eat at the food court (again), then come home, do a rush sweep, flip laundry, and then decide to hell with it, you’re too tired to do anything else, except be moody and be best left alone?
Me too.
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