Today's rule: I can't go downstairs until I wash my sheets. Ug.
A set of twin sheets in a wet soapy heap stared at me from the bright blue tub, about one and half feet in diameter. I attempted to mentally prepare myself for the wrist pain ahead.
By the end of the scrubbing ordeal I had changed the water four times before it finally ran clean... I'm not sure which round of water landed me with soaked pj shorts, but I'd like to think that it was at least the water from the 3rd or 4th bucket. Success! My "clean" sheets are now hanging in the hallway outside my room, flapping in the wind against the dirty walls.
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