Sweet Catastrophe

I’m washing everyone’s towels. I’ve taken out more than 4 bags of trash. I cleaned out the fridge. I cleaned the toilet and put a not-so-happy little sign over the toilet reminding those penises I live with to return the seat to its proper position.

Do you think if I injected them with a little progesterone they’d care a little more?

I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’re grateful, and occasionally they express it, but I think for all I do for those two, they could express it a little more often….

And I’m gonna go postal about the toilet seat. For real. Don’t laugh, it’s not because I fall in or anything, it’s just that this is ‘my’ bathroom. The only thing I do in the upstairs bathroom is shower and blow dry my hair and that’s only because the downstairs lacks the proper equipment to do those things. The downstairs bathroom is mine. I keep it clean. Not just because I like it that way, but of course, that’s the bathroom guests use.

They can keep the upstairs bathroom as messy as they want–and I still clean it, but stay out of my friggin bathroom! Keep your shaving goop upstairs and keep my seat down dammit!!!!

I’m going to be fighting this fight for the rest of my life though, aren’t I?