I am tired of things being my fault. 

      I really don't believe that it is my fault for washing a wallet on the average of once or twice a month.  Really. My husband knows I have this problem, yet still he persists in leaving his wallet in a pair of cast off dirty pants/shorts which he leaves in a pile on the bedroom/living room floor for me to pick up and throw in the washing machine before we both run out of wearable garments.  It doesn't occur to me to check pockets simply because before I take off my pants, I take all the crap out of the pockets and put it on a table.  This seems like a reasonable argument to me, at least. I am NEVER going to consistently check pockets. It is not in my nature, the same as list-making is not in my nature, or anything particularly anal is in my nature.

      Of course, all I usually wash is an ID and a list he uses for job applications. List can be replenished, and the ID is wonderfully made out of plastic.  (Except for that one time I washed a cell phone.)  But I've been washing his stupid wallet for 3 years so this is definitely not going to change.  Today, for some reason, his mom calls and wants to know where her proof of insurance is to her car. Of course she would be the only person on the face of the earth who would hand her proof of insurance over to him when he borrowed her car once so he could go apply for jobs.  He has insurance. If he were to be pulled over, the cops would just find out if he had her permission to be driving her car. Simple as that.  I keep mine in my glove box.  Apparently, her usual storage medium is her wallet?  Weird. So guess what? I washed her proof of insurance.  It's fine. A little rumpled, but okay, legible and all that and had to listen to the "I'm tired of you washing my wallet" diatribe.  To which I used my argument: "I picked up the pile of laundry. It was large. How should I know there are wallets in it?" I knew his phone wasn't in the pants, it had been ringing and he was talking on it. So I figured I was safe.

     Otherwise, Vincent has no love of the vacuum cleaner.  Jon got to hold him whilst I cleaned his habitat and apparently bunny was shaking and scared. But, upon a zoomy inspection, room appeared no worse for the wear and bunny settled back down to do what bunnies do best, which is look cute, hop, and eat, and occasionally nibble on a card board box. 

     Emma and Doggles held their morning version of Wrestlemania, and are now both curled up next to me on the couch. So cute.  Later versions of Wrestlemania will follow with noisiness and thumping and growling.