That Old Black Magic

What happens at my house sure ain't white magic. And it sure seems magical, but not in a good way.

I can, and certainly will, give you multiple examples. If I didn't I wouldn't have a blog.

I have scrubbed every inch of kitchen counter. I have emptied and filled a dishwasher, washed all the "can't put in the dishwasher" dishes, fed the fish, checked the grocery list and vacated the kitchen for less than three minutes.

Upon re-entering, both sinks are full of dirty dishes. There are crumbs of unknown origin on all counter surfaces, we are out of everything and the fish looks hungry.

See what I  mean?

Oh, and get this:

I will have washed eleventy billion loads of laundry. Not nary a basket full of anything except maybe a smidgen of lint. Not one dirty sock, not one wet washcloth.

I am once again gone for less than three minutes and two baskets are running over with dirty clothes.

And don't get me started on the garbage. 

That truly is black magic.