I hate cleaning!

I am about to share with you my reasons for needing a job, and why I will probably never be a stay at home wife, let alone stay at home mom. Today is Good Friday-biblically anyway. There is no school today, so I'm home to do what people who stay home do.
To start off with, we are out of milk, so I decided to throw on some dirty clothes, half comb my hair, brush my teeth(quickly) and head out to the gas station to buy coffee. This was after I surfed the net for about an hour. I was determined to find pictures of cakes I love, but got bored because the computer was quite slow.
On my way back home, I drove by the house thinking,"I don't want to go back in there, I'll have to clean." So I drove past the house and down to the lake. It's cloudy today, so there was not much to see, except the gravel sitting on grass where they will be doing construction, I sure hope it's done by Sept. or our wedding reception will be surrounded by yellow construction tape. Fetching!
When I got home I hear a rumble in my stomache, searching the fridge, the only thing I wanted to eat was frozen pizza, very healthy.
After searching the net for another two hours, my back hurting, and my legs numb from inactivity, I decided I better do some cleaning. If you have animals that live in the house, you probably shutter at the idea of cleaning floors, as do I. First I tried a terry cloth floor duster, then I tried a mop with hardwood floor cleaner. Well, it looks wet-but still grungy since it's old wood. In the next room, I tried to speed things up a little-and use the vacuum. I know better, on hard wood it's pointless to use a vacuum because it just shoots the dog hair, cat hair, dirt, food particles, and little insulation balls right out the back and onto my bare feet, which are now dirtier than the floor. This results in me picking up the too heavy vacuum and throwing it as hard as I can, stomping to the room to lay down while listening to my pounding heart feeling my blood rush from one temple to the other. Remy is there licking me and tucking her tail at the same time because she knows, "mommy is having a rough day."
When my heart rate starts to slow and the pulsing in my temples begins to quiet I start to hear what sounds like Bob Marley on the radio. With a little bit of "every little thing is gonna be alright" I calmly get up, collect the pieces of the vacuum, use a regular old broom to push the dog hair out of my way, and get back on the computer (after I send Craig a message saying I want to binge drink or go on a shooting spree everytime I have to clean.)
This time my online search was for an "I hate cleaning blog forum" which by the way I easily found. Now I know, there are others out there who feel the same as I do. I hope I could get a laugh or at least an amen out of at least one woman who reads this.