I woke up at 3, remembering that I had intended to call my brothers but entirely forgetting that they wouldn't take kindly to a middle of the night phone call. Then I realized that there were a bunch of things I wanted to do in my volunteer job, but when I came out to the kitchen and saw the amazing amount of things that hadn't yet been washed, I decided to be the housewife I'd always hoped I'd never become.
In my nightgown, I unloaded the dishwasher, loaded the dishwasher, stacked pots and bowls differently, hand-washed what seemed like hundreds of glasses and the feel of the glass made me want a coffee. I grabbed a cup to make it in, using too much energy, and just missed the nightgown with the stuff that had been sitting in the cup. It was nasty, but at least I'd managed not to get it on my clothes.
I did however get it on the little folding stool that Robyn calls her "yadder" and soon enough, I was reaching to put glasses on the shelf and stepped on the ladder. I actually put both my feet on it. My bare feet. I was so annoyed with myself that I stamped around the kitchen leaving prints that CSI would have been puzzled over as one of my feet is shaped entirely differently from the other.
(Note to self: write a foody mystery about a killer with two different-shaped feet---make a pile of money---use it to get someone in to clean the kitchen after birthday dinners).