why wash again? I want another word! I don’t like wash well i like being cdlean I love it actually especially when i’m sweaty
Alex
mom washes the dishes but sometime dad and I wash the dishes. now that we are alone because mom has been traveling recently we bot
Alex
I poured in the detergent, and watched as the bubbles began their swish, swish swish. I thought of his hands, and washing them as he cried. He sobbed that he didn’t know why he did it, but I knew. I just washed off the blood and held him as he cried and explained that sometimes, bad men just needed to die and it was his unhappy duty to kill that particular bad man. I know he never heard me.
It’s all a wash. Life, that is. It’s a series of not knowing what you are doing or where you are going or why you are going there. It’s all a wash. I’ve messed up somewhere here.
Rebecca
“Wash cut and blow?” Sure. This was Tamara’s first haircut since her sex change. Boy, was it different from a barbershop. She wouldn’t be getting a shave this time.
I cannot view anything over the wash that hangs so carefully off of the many clothespins. The long, thin wire is spinning and spiraling, it seems, but I cannot see. I do not look. I grip the rough wash for support, but I am falling. Falling from grace.
how hilarious. The word would be wash, while the highly inconvenient man installs a towlebar in our bathroom. I wish he wasn’t here. I wish that i had the house to myself…well, not really to myself, but you get the idea. GRRRRR.
I need to wash my armpits. Gross, I know, but ’tis is true.
I forgot to where deodorant so i put some hand sanitizer on. Kinda stung, so hopefully it does the trick. We shall see.
Oh my here we are again.. right back with the wash! How is it that it never seems to end. Its a wishy wash type of thing.. sometimes you want to wash, but other times, you do not want to wash.. I was thinking about it just the other day. How can one word such as wash be pronounced in so many ways? Such as waaash or warsh.. hmmm is that an accent of the word wash, or is that a dialect?
Some days, since our dish washer has broken down, i have to hand wash all the dishes.. I wear gloves for this, as hand washing can be drying.. speaking of which, just washing your hands had turned my once pretty hands into a dry ole mess! Just to get clean an do a load of wash!.. Even after touching the dirty clothes to be washed you have to wash your hands.
With only a washing machine in the house and not a dishwasher, we are sorely lacking on the washing end of things.. But to keep into perspective, so many countries have to do their wash in the stream or dirty river..
Well that’s a wash of my ideas for now. Hopefully we can get all of this out into the wash, and call it a day… remember, do not be wishy washy whatever you do! Cheerio washables!
Caroline
The wash is hanging out to dry and I am crying, crying with the rain that falls on my freshly clean clothes and the drip-drip-drip of wet fabric. What a day.
Jade
“It’s a wash,” Penelope said to her pig one day. “It’ll turn you purple.” Fanny, the pig, eyed the plastic bottle skeptically. “What exactly do you mean, purple?” she asked. “I thought I was supposed to be learning to weave carpets here.” Penelope sighed in exasperation. “I KNOW,” she said, “but trust me, this will help. It gets you into the mind of the carpet, so to speak. I mean, there’s not much there, a lot of fluff and some dye and every once in a while an idle daydream about flying, but it really helps when you feel what it’s like to be a rug.” “Carpet,” Fanny corrected. “Yes, Carpet, CAR-PET, carpet carpet carpet,” said Penelope, stamping her foot on the wood floor. “That’s not the POINT. Will you just let me wash you with it? It’ll leave purple paisleys on your back for a week or so, and then they’ll bleach out. Like henna.” Fanny sniffed suspiciously at the air. “It smells like lilacs,” she announced. Penelope sneezed. “Damn,” she said, “I thought it was grapes. I’m allergic to lilacs.”
Zebrolia
she put out the wash, didn’t even look at them when she did it. kept her eye on the horizon straight out back, didn’t look left didn’t look right. She felt her anger would quickly turn to tears if she did. For all she knew no one was even home, but still the rock in her gut was paralyzing.
zkalioznes
i kept scrubbing the feeling of his hand on my cheek off, but no such luck. it was as if he would forever be stuck on my skin, lingering like the clouds on the day that he left me, refusing to show the sky.
Ari
No matter how often I wash the dishes or wash the laundry or wash the tub its still gross or backed up within a day. I can’t believe this is my life. Never ending wash!
why wash again? I want another word! I don’t like wash well i like being cdlean I love it actually especially when i’m sweaty
mom washes the dishes but sometime dad and I wash the dishes. now that we are alone because mom has been traveling recently we bot
I poured in the detergent, and watched as the bubbles began their swish, swish swish. I thought of his hands, and washing them as he cried. He sobbed that he didn’t know why he did it, but I knew. I just washed off the blood and held him as he cried and explained that sometimes, bad men just needed to die and it was his unhappy duty to kill that particular bad man. I know he never heard me.
It’s all a wash. Life, that is. It’s a series of not knowing what you are doing or where you are going or why you are going there. It’s all a wash. I’ve messed up somewhere here.
“Wash cut and blow?” Sure. This was Tamara’s first haircut since her sex change. Boy, was it different from a barbershop. She wouldn’t be getting a shave this time.
I cannot view anything over the wash that hangs so carefully off of the many clothespins. The long, thin wire is spinning and spiraling, it seems, but I cannot see. I do not look. I grip the rough wash for support, but I am falling. Falling from grace.
how hilarious. The word would be wash, while the highly inconvenient man installs a towlebar in our bathroom. I wish he wasn’t here. I wish that i had the house to myself…well, not really to myself, but you get the idea. GRRRRR.
I need to wash my armpits. Gross, I know, but ’tis is true.
I forgot to where deodorant so i put some hand sanitizer on. Kinda stung, so hopefully it does the trick. We shall see.
Oh my here we are again.. right back with the wash! How is it that it never seems to end. Its a wishy wash type of thing.. sometimes you want to wash, but other times, you do not want to wash.. I was thinking about it just the other day. How can one word such as wash be pronounced in so many ways? Such as waaash or warsh.. hmmm is that an accent of the word wash, or is that a dialect?
Some days, since our dish washer has broken down, i have to hand wash all the dishes.. I wear gloves for this, as hand washing can be drying.. speaking of which, just washing your hands had turned my once pretty hands into a dry ole mess! Just to get clean an do a load of wash!.. Even after touching the dirty clothes to be washed you have to wash your hands.
With only a washing machine in the house and not a dishwasher, we are sorely lacking on the washing end of things.. But to keep into perspective, so many countries have to do their wash in the stream or dirty river..
Well that’s a wash of my ideas for now. Hopefully we can get all of this out into the wash, and call it a day… remember, do not be wishy washy whatever you do! Cheerio washables!
The wash is hanging out to dry and I am crying, crying with the rain that falls on my freshly clean clothes and the drip-drip-drip of wet fabric. What a day.
“It’s a wash,” Penelope said to her pig one day. “It’ll turn you purple.” Fanny, the pig, eyed the plastic bottle skeptically. “What exactly do you mean, purple?” she asked. “I thought I was supposed to be learning to weave carpets here.” Penelope sighed in exasperation. “I KNOW,” she said, “but trust me, this will help. It gets you into the mind of the carpet, so to speak. I mean, there’s not much there, a lot of fluff and some dye and every once in a while an idle daydream about flying, but it really helps when you feel what it’s like to be a rug.” “Carpet,” Fanny corrected. “Yes, Carpet, CAR-PET, carpet carpet carpet,” said Penelope, stamping her foot on the wood floor. “That’s not the POINT. Will you just let me wash you with it? It’ll leave purple paisleys on your back for a week or so, and then they’ll bleach out. Like henna.” Fanny sniffed suspiciously at the air. “It smells like lilacs,” she announced. Penelope sneezed. “Damn,” she said, “I thought it was grapes. I’m allergic to lilacs.”
she put out the wash, didn’t even look at them when she did it. kept her eye on the horizon straight out back, didn’t look left didn’t look right. She felt her anger would quickly turn to tears if she did. For all she knew no one was even home, but still the rock in her gut was paralyzing.
i kept scrubbing the feeling of his hand on my cheek off, but no such luck. it was as if he would forever be stuck on my skin, lingering like the clouds on the day that he left me, refusing to show the sky.
No matter how often I wash the dishes or wash the laundry or wash the tub its still gross or backed up within a day. I can’t believe this is my life. Never ending wash!