The kids have gone to school. The husband has gone to work, and the dogs have commenced their mid-morning snooze.
So who is that screaming????????
EEEEK!!! It’s the laundry, shrieking from behind me, reminding me that some of life’s jobs will never be done.
Laundry-doers, it seems to me, come in two categories.
There are those like me, who hate the laundry in all of its forms.
We hate overflowing hampers and clothes-strewn floors. We hate sniffing our family’s discarded clothes to see if they are clean. We hate the wet laundry that sits so long in the laundry machine that it eventually takes on that musty, musky smell.
We hate deciding if the smell is bad enough to warrant a repeat cycle. (And why, we wonder, does one washer cycle equal two drier cycles?)
We hate how wrinkled clean clothes get, when they inevitably sit in the drier or in the laundry basket too long. (We don’t iron.) We hate folding laundry and putting it away.
And we especially hate that within minutes of the last load being done, there is more to do. For this reason alone, I have flirted with the idea of becoming a nudist…and insisting that my family follow suit!
Then there are those other people (like my mother-in law) for whom laundry is a religion. Their pants are perfectly creased. Their t-shirts are folded and stacked with such precision that you swear they apply a level and a square to the task.
Nothing sits in the washer or dryer for long, and therefore, everything smells sweet and never needs ironing. Nonetheless, laundry-lovers relish the opportunity to banish every last wrinkle (even though they will inevitably reappear as soon as the garment is worn).
And somehow, they do not have an entire laundry basket of unmatched socks!
For them, it seems, laundry is a meditation, a cherished opportunity to bring order to chaos…if only for a moment.
Me…I am just waiting until they invent a washing machine with sort, fold and put away settings. Until then, expect screaming.