Laundry and I have not been getting along lately.  Everytime I think I’m finished with Laundry I find it has somehow reproduced itself.  Laundry is worse than bunnies.  Laundry is the houseguest that never leaves.  Laundry is more dogged than a telemarketer.  The things in life that are certain should be death, taxes and Laundry.  Unless you’re a nudist.

In a house of five people and one dog I do at least two loads of laundry daily.  At least.  If all or some or even just one of us has gone out of town for the weekend, or just a sleepover at a friend’s house, that easily doubles.  Sometimes when I’m feeling super industrious I get the idea that I will get all the Laundry done in one day so I won’t have to deal with it cluttering up my floor.  On days like that I end up doing five and sometimes six loads.  That’s a lot of Laundry.  Once that last load has been scooped up and tossed into the washer there is that feeling of relief and accomplishment.  I feel super and even superior because I have conquered the Laundry.  Then someone takes off their socks.

The only cure for Laundry is nudity.  What isn’t worn doesn’t need to be washed.  Except curtains on occasion.  Bedsheets and blankets too but weekly is fine for those.  And towels. FRICK!!!

Okay, the cure for Laundry is nudity, vertical blinds, beds of straw and drip drying.  Like I said: death, taxes and Laundry.