I'm seriously complaining that the weekend is going slow and that no one is bugging the everloving crap out of me?
Someone slap me.
Hard.
P.S. That up there? Full of lies. There's always something to do. Like laundry, or dishes, or more laundry. If I was independently wealthy, I'd have a laundry boy. Or girl. I'm not picky. I'll even wash. Just fold and put away for me and I'll worship the ground you walk on.
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