Life & Love & Lessons Learned

Why I will never fold laundry again, unless I’ve personally washed it myself

After a long day at the boutique, I came home to an empty house. Heaven! The husband and the kids were out. Nice! Alone time. The house was mine all mine. Well, mine and my pups. In my elation, I ran upstairs to put on my pjs and get all snuggled up to watch some Hallmark Christmas movies. But when I went up to my room, there was a pile, and I mean, pile, of clothes on the bed.

Being a tad obsessive/compulsive, I couldn’t just leave it there. I mean, I could, if I was a slacker. So instead of getting changed, I started folding the laundry. It felt wet, but I figured, since our laundry is in the basement, and since it’s freezing out, perhaps its just cold.

Laundry is a mind numbing task. So I started to think about all the other things I needed to do. Things like pjs and movies…

About 1/2 way through the mindless folding, something snapped me out of my fog. It was the realization that I was indeed folding dirty laundry.

How did I know this, you ask? Because I went to fold a pair of my son’s jeans and not only was there dried pumpkin guts on them, from last night’s pumpkin curb-stomping competition with his siblings, but his underwear was still attached to the leg of his jeans. His dirty, smelly, fart-juice stained underwear. Yah. I touched those. With both hands.

While I was at work, my  husband decided bring up the laundry from the basement. Unfortunately he brought up the basket of dirty clothes instead of the basket of clean.

Suffice to say I’m still not in my pjs, nor am I watching a Hallmark Christmas movie. But I think I just heard the washer shut off. So there’s that.

What are you doing?

 

 

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