Laundry Day Issues

Ever noticed how when you try extra hard to do something nice, things often go so wrong it's comical?

Tell me I'm not the only one that happens to.

Take today for example. I came home from work, was super productive with designing and headed off to go Visiting Teaching. Visited with a super cute girl from church for about a half hour and then came home to make dinner for C who was biking back from class. I was looking fabulous today. Turquoise satin shirt, brown slacks [size 4 baby! don't hate. :) I haven't been able to wear them since the wedding], and heels.

Thai pasta was on the menu, and I had some cooked chicken pre-chopped in the freezer. Pulled out the chicken, threw the sauce together, etc. I thawed the chicken under some cold water, but it was still frozen into some chunks so I was just going to let it thaw the rest of the way while the sauce thickened. I'll admit, I was feeling pretty on top of it.

One poorly guided swoop of the spoon later and there is thai peanut sauce [read: El Pato jalapeno salsa and peanut butter] splattered all over my satin shirt, the bread machine, the floor, the far wall, the fridge, and the stove, none of which are in the same general direction.

I immediately take my shirt off in a panic, thinking about the grease and stains that are inevitable. Additionally, wonder-husband had started the laundry, and so all of my shirts are in the kitchen/laundry nook, but they're all wet. Kitchen window is WIDE open, and I realize I'm wearing a hot pink bra. [It's laundry day, after all.] Thus, walking back across the kitchen, past the window, is not exactly going to happen. The sauce is burning, and I can't run upstairs to grab a shirt, so I begin to rummage through our delicates batch. Miracle of miracles, one of my white-ish blouses made it into the delicates batch on accident.

Let me paint this picture for you.

Hot pink bra + white blouse = very visible hot pink through white.

However, if C's the only one who's going to see me, who cares. And so, we enjoy a nice dinner together and watch make it or break it on the couch eating ice cream right out of the carton. I, then, head back upstairs to package up some of my new scrapbooking products, and C heads to the kitchen to finish up the dishes. [love him.]

And...there's a knock at the door. At 9pm. I ignore it because I know full well how I look and I'm not about to go welcome the world into our home. C can't hear it. The water's going. I call down to C. He can't hear me either.

Knock at the door #2. More urgent this time.

So, I go down and open the door, doing the strategic half-way hide behind the door without looking awkward move.

It's our home teachers.

We completely spaced it.

Feigning pleasant surprise, I excuse myself for a moment and invite them in. Panicked moment #2 begins when I realize 90% of my clothes are downstairs in the laundry nook and therefore none of my colored tank tops are up in my bedroom. Why I didn't just put a different [darker colored] shirt on is beyond me. So I grab a white jacket. Really Kristin? Really?

And all through our conversation with the Home Teachers, I'm moving all over the couch trying out different ways to sit to potentially shield my fluorescent bra with a combination of C's body, my pathetic jacket and completely avoiding eye-contact.

Fail.

And all because I wanted to have dinner on the table for C.

Some days you really just have to wonder if it's all worth it.

lol.