I’m at war with my laundry.
I’ve don’t remember having been at war with laundry before…
I used to LIKE doing laundry. It makes the house smell like fabric softener, and the more clean laundry there is, the more choices I have. I thoroughly enjoy choices that are soft and sweetly scented. Also, this time of year, laundry from the dryer is warm, so you’d think that would be a perk.
I don’t remember exactly when the laundry began its vicious onslaught…
I mean, I’ve had massive volumes of laundry for over a decade, and I never felt attacked like this, but over the last month, I see the laundry army is increasing its numbers, and I am still only one woman, battling the surge.
Recently, Sassy had to go to school in khakis, (ZOMG!) that were not skinny (ZOMG!) so she nearly died of shame and embarrassment. Randomly, people have said things to me, like, “Is my purple dress clean, yet?” and “This is my last pair of tights.” Obviously my children are turncoats, and cannot be trusted.
I’ve also noticed that in addition to my family conspiring against me, the laundry is gaslighting me.
Last week, I found a blue baby boy sock in the wash.
My baby boy is 6’3 and 200 pounds. He’s never lived in this house. I moved into this house without a single odd sock. No boy babies have come to visit this house. The youngest boy to enter this house was seven and this sock wouldn’t even cover one of his ears.