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I'm going through my drawers, and while they are filled with clothes, it's like someone has hidden everything I'd ever actually wear. (Shirt with a huge peace sign, why do I own you? You don't really fit and you're a peace sign shirt.)
And then I take a look at this bitch. Hiding all my favorite clothes. And it's like, when something is dirty, I get all Alzheimer'sy and think I couldn't possibly have any other clothes than the weird Delia's sh*t in my drawers.
No, Emma. Look at your hamper. Are you serious? You have other clothes. Obviously. Do your laundry.
I mean, I definitely have a few things left to throw on, 'cause do I really care what I look like in Principles of Macroeconomics?
No, definitely don't.
What's your least favorite chore?
Shampooing carpets because cats. I cleaned up one stain two weeks ago on a Saturday. Sunday morning there were two more. They know. They just know. I left them there. It's so literally painful to shampoo, have to drag out an enormous Bissel machine, deal with a hose with a mind of its own and then use every ounce of energy to suck solution out the floor. I'm ready for hardwood.
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