Our washing machine is conviently located in the basement of our house. That means, I have absolutely no problem building the tallest of mountains out of underpants, t-shirts, and socks. It's hidden ever so well. Far, far from the public eye.
This morning, I had been wandering between the basement and the garden, doing a few little odd jobs outside, when I got distracted by the telephone and the kids.
A couple of hours have past and it occurs that I must have forgotten to close the outside basement door for I now see that half of my mountain has been moved to the front lawn. And the very kind moving man is curled up, nose tucked under his tail, asleep in the middle of it.
And no. I am not taking pictures of my dirty laundry no matter how damn cute the dog is!