I don’t know about you all (that’s y’all for my Southern peeps), but I didn’t do much laundry this weekend.
And now, I pay the price. Folding party at my house tonight! It’ll be fun… really.
Doesn’t she look like she’s having fun???
I realized that my anxiety about starting the laundry is two-fold:
- The sheer volume. Heavens to Murgatroyd, we dirty a lot of clothes. (By the way, I think I’m gonna name the lady in the photo Murgatroyd.)
- Not wanting to start and then find that I missed something.
I suffer more with the second one. I hate when I try to wash every last stitch of dirty laundry in our house, and then, as if from nowhere, a random dirty sock will appear. When that happens, it feels like it was all for naught.
And then, inevitably… the end of the day comes and there will be more dirty clothes, thus confirming the maddening phenomenon that is the laundry.
You know, you hear about postal workers going insane because “The mail never stops.” But I think more wives and moms would be justified to go similarly batty by the same token.
Okay, gotta go start this exercise in futility. I’ve put it off long enough by:
So if you’re slogging through piles of laundry today, you’re not alone. And just remember Murgatroyd. She’s having so much FUN!!! (insert insane laughter).