Washday Hands

This is the fourth load of washing I've done today, as well as cleaning the Spare Oom from all the insulation and soot dust. I'm flipping knackered.

In other news, Daddy and Alexander went swimming and met daddy and toddler from next door and went to the local greasy spoon for lunch. It sounded sort of fun and appalling at the same time....Alexander refused to have his nap until 4pm so I don't know what he'd ingested. Some of the pool, apparently.

In between I have been doing some marathon reading as my book is really exciting and I want to finish it. I would recommend it - The Help by Kathryn Stockett. I thought it was a holiday type read, which it is, but it's edge of your seat exciting, about black maids in Mississippi in the 60s.

Which brings me to today's title. It's appropriate but somehow offensive, and I've only ever heard it used once in reality, in a particularly offensive and patronising fashion at my graduation, when we had to share a table at the reception with the parents of a couple of Rahs, who were all f'ing and blinding their way through the event. The waitress, a middle aged lady, came to collect some plates, and the father said something like 'sorry for making such a mess, I know you've got your washday hands'. Then he waited for her to reply. I think he he just thought he was bantering with the masses, but it told us everything he thought about class and status. Exactly like in the book.