Saturday morning I go to A's den to start on my new cushions but I have to move the laundry maiden (rack) first. I can not be creative amongst dangling socks. I move the two laundry maidens into the other spare room. A's den is now complete, as sanctuarial as it should be. I set to work, creating.
A while later I am getting ready to go out to town and hubby looks in on the other spare room, "Oh," he says, "I see you've expanded into the other spare room too."
Whither.
I am no musician. I am no creative artist, nor interior designer. I am no writer.
I am wifey.
When I die, sit me amongst the laundry please, for it is my sanctuary.
NARRRRRT (In the style of Wayne's World).
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