Hello, darlings. Your favorite old Irish washerwoman here. Speaking as a drudge, I can tell you that a woman's work is never done. At least, this week, it seems like mine isn't. And so you see, I have written nothing new in the past day and a half. It's just like my mother always said, I am a lazy slug no man will ever want to marry. Well, at least some good has come out of it!
Please forgive me for no poem today. Instead, I offer up a vision of what I might rather be doing, if I were not hunched over my wash like a galley slave, and if I were young, and hot, and could smile without showing all my missing teeth and catching my hand in the wringer. Oh well. Pass the Oxydol and damn the torpedoes.