As I wait for supper to warm, I'm trying to decide if I should be offended that D just asked me what inspired me to stay in my gown all day. Yes, it's almost 7 p.m. and I haven't changed out of my night gown. In my defense, I have worked on laundry all day. I just didn't see the need for me to dirty up more clothes to turn around and then wash.
I hate laundry. To be exact, I loathe laundry. Of all the household chores, in my opinion laundry is by far the worst. Mainly because it never ends. Once a load is washed, dried and neatly folded, another piles up in the hamper. It multiplies. Laundry is a living, breathing, nasty, unending task than tortures and torments its domestic master.
And the laundry that lives in a house with three small children breeds worse than a bunch of bunnies. It's downright discouraging.
Notice I haven't even gotten in to the part where the master must put the monster away in its appropriate living quarters. I can't stand putting away clean clothes. I love it when its done. I love the accomplished - short-lived - feeling of order. But in less than 24 hours, the dirty laundry demon is back with vengeance.
I don't understand people who enjoy doing laundry. I admire them, but I don't understand them. My mother is one of those people. Her laundry is never backed up. I think Mom is a laundry junkie. After having to wash laundry for my own family for a few years now, I'm fairly convinced no one could actually like laundry unless there's an illness involved. I think when dirty clothes start collecting on the laundry room floor, a little part of her gets excited and she just needs a hit. In goes the dirty darks. Ahhh ... that's good.
Not me. Give me a cup of coffee and a Snickers Marathon. Now that's my drug of choice!
Oh, dryer buzz ... time to switch!
AMEN sister!
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