I have easily sat down 16 or 17 times to write a blog post about laundry. And every time I do, I inevitably shriek (with a lovely shrill that only the dog can hear) “NO!” while in the middle of writing the most boring blog post ever. I then delete it and resist lighting the laptop on fire. I realize that it’s a huge function of my life right now – the laundry – but I hate it so much that I refuse to give it any special attention. That narcissistic bitch requires me DAILY and I’m done with her crap.
I will NOT write about how it is the bane of my existence. And I will NOT write about how it has taken over my life – quite literally (the arms of dirty shirts and the legs of filthy jeans grasping for me wildly from their color coded piles … good, right?). I will NOT write about how I have let it go for a day only to be unable to walk into my house without tripping over a heaping mound of underwear … and not the clean kind, people.
I will NOT write about how folded clothes are on every surface in my house and how dirty clothes are on every inch of the floor. I will NOT write about how the kids frequently throw CLEAN clothes into the dirty pile, so that I am forced to wash two times what is necessary … which makes me so happy I could SCREEEEEEEEEEEAM.
I most certainly will NOT discuss the amount of times I’ve had to “sniff” clothes – leaving lingering smells that will never disappear from my already addled brain – smells no one should have to ever encounter, EVER (two words: bodily fluids) … hang on, my eyes just rolled back into my head.
Ah, there we go.
I will NOT talk about the fact that it is NEVER DONE. Even when it is done, it’s not done … unless you’re doing it naked. Don’t think I haven’t thought about it – just to know what it’s like to ONE TIME have it COMPLETELY DONE. The intense joy as I stand there arms raised in pathetic triumph to only be turned into debilitating sadness when I realize this is what’s left of my life, forcing me to crawl into bed for 3 days and then, yep, be 3 days behind in laundry. Bitch.
If I ever write a blog post about laundry then I’m pretty sure I’ve given up on life. Thrown in the towel. Called it a day. Hung up the ol’ fiddle. Waved the white flag. Chucked up the sponge. Puked up the underwear … (ok, ok – you don’t have to get hostile!!!) Anyway, I will just curl up in fetal position, surrounded by soiled laundry and shrivel away into some sort of bleached hell.