I'm not sure why gravity hates me. I've posted about this before, but gravity's onslaught continues.
Yesterday I was quite proud of myself for having cleaned my floors, and having cleaned them with vinegar instead of a harsh, yucky chemical. (I know, I know--some of you do this on a much more regular basis, and so my self-congratulating here seems trite. Just let me have this.)
Anyway, there I was, admiring my gleaming floors. Less than 24 hours later, I had spilled milk, a lot of milk, all over the kitchen floor. Twice.
I can't even blame this on Wiggle Man, or complain about Hubba Hubba tracking mud all over my clean floors--both of the men in my life are perfectly innocent of the defiling of my clean floors.
It was me. All me. Both times.
Well, me and my evil nemesis gravity.