I don't want to mop the floor.

But I'm going to have to. Apparently there was a Capri Sun accident next to the fridge while I was out with my sister on Sunday that no one cleaned up and subsequently was tracked across a little more than half the kitchen. This is a hazard because it is so sticky I could lose the children in it and not see them again until dinner time -- wait, why is this a problem again?

Oh, yes. The whining.

I have no idea why I hate mopping quite so much, but really, really, really, I don't want to mop. I want to nap, but that's not unusual. I want to research -- that is unusual. I need to figure out how people lived in the year 1000 and (for something different) I want to know about possible side-effects for small genetic changes -- like the genetic changes made to the little girl in Europe to take away much of her cancer risks. (I understand it, both mother and father have lost several family members to hereditary cancers.) But, can changing that one gene make other unintended changes happen? There's been enough genetic research in recent years that I should be able to find something.

That's my idea for the upcoming Science in my Fiction contest by Crossed Genres. Well, part of it. And if I'm going to write it in time to submit I will need to actually start putting pen to paper (or, more accurately, fingers to keyboard) and get the story down. But I need to know more about genetics than I do now.

Thankfully, mopping is such a horrible horrible task that in pure avoidance of that, I should get some research done and maybe even a page or two written by the end of the day. (End of the Day, in this instance, means when Hubby comes home and we do family stuff rather than whatever it is I do during the day. --Don't ask me. I'm pretty sure no one knows.

Which chores do you hate so much you'd rather go to the gym than do?