Laundry Pile Attacks Innocent Blogger

I remember the events of the tragic day unfolding something like this.

'Hey honey, if you decide to do laundry this year, I need socks, underwear, pants and shirts. Thanks, you're a gem.'

'You have everything clean.'

'Uh, that's not what my empty dresser says.'

'I haven't folded everything yet - they're in the baby room.'

When I opened the door, I felt something breathing on me and I could swear I heard grunting. I nervously flipped on the light switch and was suddenly attacked by the most vicious pile of clean laundry I have ever encountered.

'Clean', my ass! It was horrible! I can barely write about the whole ordeal. That heap of clothes pounced on me and did things to me that will haunt me forever.

My muffled screams went unanswered, as did the many questions running through my head. Why me? What did I do to provoke this attack? Why did this woman spend the entire winter break washing and not fold a single sock? Why couldn't she just fold the damn clothes like a normal human?

Has anyone seen my keys?

I have often wondered what mysteries are locked up in Angie's brain; I just never tried gouging my way through with a key.

When I came home from work today, Scarface explained to me how she had nearly lost an eye getting out of the car. I am sure her explanation made perfect sense to her, but I was cracking up too hard to really get all the details. It's called IQ, sweetie, not eye key.

The Destructo Dave Smackdown

It all started with a thump. Followed by some mild wailing.

'Honey, did you drop Davey on his head again?'

'Yes, but it was an accident.'

'Yeah, they always are. Should I call child services now or are you going to endulge me?'

Angie rarely makes sense, but I've lived with the woman long enough to not let this get in the way. I struggled, but finally I got her version of the truth.

Apparently, David had run up to his caring and loving mother, complaining that his foot hurt.

'Your foot hurts? Aaah, you poor thing. Let me just ignore gravity for a sec and yank your feet up here so I can inspect them.'

[Disclaimer: I was slaving away in the kitchen when Mama decided to pile-drive David into the floorboards, so I can only rely on her testimonial, which was not fabricated in any way, shape or form.]