Ironing our resolutions

This has been my living state for the past three days. This is how I received the new year. 
{Hello 2013, please don't take offense to my unwashed hair/pajama combination.}
What is not pictured here is my husband, who has been making sure that I survive the plague this cold, and among other things, has been ironing our clean laundry.
That's right, I said it. He has been ironing.

It's not that we love to iron, ok? It's just that we both work in places where you can't show up in worn in jeans and a t-shirt that you run through the de-wrinkle cycle of the dryer and call it good.
We can't. We'd like to. But we can't.
On the bright side, we both love our jobs, so this is just a tiny, minor, and super inconvenient detail that we have to endure. Sigh. 

So while I recovered and he ironed, we started talking about resolutions, what with the new year and all, and we both agree that we find new year's resolutions a bit silly. Pardon us if that is your thing, and by all means resolve away if it suits you, but we find that we change when we need to, sometimes when we have to, regardless of the time of year.

It came to coincide that our pile of laundry is magnanimous. It's bigger than big. It's huge. So big that in my snotty state I moved my unwashed hair from the couch to give Tim a hand with the ironing, and he ironed, and I ironed, and he ironed some more, and we are still not done.

In light of this situation, we have decided this crap needs to change, and so on this the 1st day of January, we solemnly resolve with you as our witness, that we may never, ever, ever, let 4 weeks of laundry go by un-ironed. And if we finish ironing this load by the weekend, there will be a celebratory toast in the laundry room. So help us the irnoning gods.

How's that for a resolution?


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