Once upon a time I accepted that laundry was my job. Forever. I dreaded the monotony and disruption of the chore. Washer…wait for it… dryer…wait for it… fold clothes..takes forever especially because all clothes are inside out… put clothes away…which is really optional around here…repeat. YAWN. Boooooring.
While I love clean clothes I am still mildly annoyed by the never ending cycle of wash, dry, and fold. At any given moment of any given day I am in one of the laundry stages.
During a recent “will this never end?” rant, Josh pointed out that I can’t possibly loathe doing laundry as much as I claim. In fact, my actions show that I must LOVE it.
He pointed out that I:
- Jump out of bed in the morning to get a load of clothes into the washing machine
- Jump out of bed at night in a panic that clothes were not moved from the washer to the dryer
- Process at least 3 loads while sick
- Do laundry on vacation…and wash those same things again at home
- Battle stains as if they were personal challenge on which I will get rated
- Standby with a stain stick to attack BBQ stains the minute his shirt and shorts hit the floor (because why would anyone put their dirty clothes IN the hamper?)
As he rattled off this list I couldn’t deny it any longer. Despite all of my complaints I love laundry. Perhaps as much as socks on the floor (read the February 26 entry).
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