I wanted to send you a little note to let you know what my morning's been like, and you'll see just how much God hates me.
I have clothes set aside for trimming the yard. They get covered in grass so they're a pain to deal with. After trimming the yard, I throw the T-shirt, shorts, and socks in the washer. I have to wash them once, and rinse them 2-3 times to get rid of all the grass. So I went through the cycles as usual, and when the rinse water was clear enough, I spun them dry and removed them from the washer.
I couldn't find one of the socks. I looked, and looked, and I began to wonder if this was going to be one of those stories you hear about disappearing clothes. I finally found the sock. It had managed to work its way into one of the pockets of the pair of shorts. The sock was essentially unwashed, as it had remained wadded-up in the pocket, and it was still covered in grass.
I put the clothes in the dryer anyway, socks and all. The end.
The following is my second example of why God hates me, and the timing is heavenly hell.
Yesterday for the first time in weeks, I posted two blogs. In one blog I attempted to prove the existence of God with the observation that my cat Jerri could have bowel movements and yet not get a single bit of feces on her very long, all-white fur.
Today, for some reason I still can't explain, Jerri is having a bout of diarrhea. Once again it's time for me to don the disposable rubber gloves and grab the cat-poop-only scissors.
If God exists, he wishes for me to be humble. Score on both points, God.