Ode To Laura Ingalls Wilder

Still no hot water.
I’m over it.
I put more insulation around the hot water tank last night, as the temps were dropping to record lows and I’m afraid of bursting pipes. I just don’t want to do that. Please, Universe? Please no bursting pipes?

Old house. Crawl space. Goes with the territory I suppose. But I’m boiling water right now to clean myself again, and I will get to the salon and shampoo my hair there. I’m kind of over it. Have I mentioned how over it I am? I have dishes and laundry to clean dangit.

But in between those thoughts of stress, I’ve unplugged. The snow forces us all to slow our roll. Of course not on our terms or conditions…but slow down we have.

You know me and slowing down.
I’m ready to giddyup.

but first I have to go take my Little House on the Prairie bath.

2 thoughts on “Ode To Laura Ingalls Wilder

  1. We always called it a sponge bath and then I heard someone else call it a “bird bath” and that’s now my favorite term for having to wash in the motherfucking sink. I hate washing in the god damned sink. HATE.

    So, um, about you, though, sorry you have to wash in the sink with water you boiled like a spunky teenaged pioneer with gap teeth.


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