"If I knew I was supposed to be comfortable in my own skin I would have used better moisturizer." -- Ms. Coni J. Rich Her Very Self on the occasion of FINALLY doing laundry
Eleven loads down, two to go!
And yes, in case you're wondering, all eleven are mine. I have not yet started to take in other people's laundry for some extra stitching money, and Stewey refuses to allow me near any of his wardrobe.
I used to be a person who did all of her laundry once a week -- wash, dry, fold, put it away. I was very smug about it too.
Then it was every other week.
Then I started to do it when I ran out of underpants.
Then I stopped wearing underpants under my eighteen-year old sweatpants.
Then I stopped going into the closet because you couldn't see the floor, and besides, when you wear pajama tops and sweatpants all day who needs to go into the closet anyway?
Then I woke up, smacked myself in the head and realized that this laundry was NOT going to march itself into the laundry room and voluntarily jump into the machine with some suds and all-color bleaching product.
Why is it that when I lived in an apartment complex and had to haul laundry to a completely separate building, I managed to do so with regularity and discipline? AND! I even had to make sure to have the requisite number of dimes and quarters for the extortionist who doled out the tokens to use the washers and dryers. Now that the freakin' laundry room is ten steps away from the place where the clothes usually hit the floor, I can't be bothered to actually put them in the $*#&% washer and then just TURN IT ON?!!!! You'd think that I had to find a river and then pound this crap against a rock or something. But ALL I HAVE TO DO IS PUT IT IN A PERFECTLY CAPABLE PIECE OF MACHINERY AND TURN IT ON!!!!!
I swear this is why I will not be accepted into any decent assisted living facility.