Dinner is simmering in the crockpot and the pool vac is burbling in the back yard. Fuzzy is still at work, and House just started on TV. It’s a rerun, one of the last from last season, but I don’t remember paying much attention to it at the time it was on.
And let’s face it: there’s no such thing as too much house.
There are fifteen things I should be doing:
I should be working on my book instead of blogging.
I should be folding laundry.
I should be writing letters.
I should be reviewing One Dance In Paris for the bookblog.
I should, I should, I should…
But what I want to do is clean the bathtub, and then find a good book, and get into a tub full of hot water and citrussy-spicy bubbles, and just forget about everything external for a while.
Tubs should totally clean themselves.