...and they all lived happily ever after...

...and they all lived happily ever after...

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

A Laundress I am NOT!

It should come as a surprise to NO ONE that I HATE (yup, I used the "H" word) doing the laundry.

It is my second-most-hated chore (doing the dishes rings in at number one for me on that front).

That means I would rather scrub toilets or weed gardens or cook (yugh!) than do the laundry.

So, it should come as no surprise (again) that I am annoyed when anything makes my second-most-hated job even more of a chore than it is to start with.

Enter my family.

(Yeah, well it sort of goes without saying that the reason there is so much laundry around here is because there are a boat load of people milling about day and night.  This leaves me with clothes and sheets and towels and rags -- because we have a serious talent for spills and stains -- and coats and jackets and costumes and uniforms and anything else made of fabric to try to keep clean.  Sometimes I think clean is greatly overrated.)

But I'm not referring (exclusively) to the amount of laundry to be cleaned here, I'm talking about the little laundry idiosyncrasies that make the job not only scowl worthy but also cackle inducing.  Like throw your head back and let the wicked witch within screech out a maniacal laugh that has nothing to do with humor kind of cackle inducing.  You know the one I'm talking about.

Take, for example, the fact that I have several members of my family who cannot take off a pair of pants (or often a shirt) without turning the item inside out.  This annoys me to no end.  Why can semi-grown people NOT manage to remove clothing without turning it a way that makes automatic extra work for their kind and loving family laundress (see why I snub the title -- it's a bad attitude all the way around from me).

There are a couple of versions of this horrific problem. 

The first is that only one of the pant legs has been pulled inside-out and the other is hanging around just fine, strutting his stuff for the world ("Look at me, I am just as I should be, aren't I awesome!"). 

When this happens there is nothing to be done but plunge into the offending pant leg and pull it out to match its partner (sometimes muttering under ones breath helps this go a little more smoothly).  I accept this sort of thing from tiny people (the very youngest of the clan) because they are small and their brains can't quite wrap around the idea of laundry or the scourge that dirty clothes create for their mother just yet.  However, when the problem bleeds into bigger people (or should I call them villains) then internal wrath ensues.  Grrrrrr!
Rotten inside-out clothes!

The second version of the pant problem comes up when not one, but both pant legs are dangling wrong side out when I pluck them from the dryer and hold them up for folding.  For a long time, I treated this problem just like the other one and fixed it.  With chagrin.  And vexation.  And wrath.  And then I seethed.  I still fix it for my tiny folk (lucky tiny folk).

Eventually, I decided to take action against the spoiled pant leg issue.  I pleaded with my family to humor me and pull their limbs out of their pants without allowing the pant legs to follow the human legs through causing inside-outage.

But alas, it was all for naught.

Then, one day a couple years ago, everything changed.  After a particularly trying load of seemingly ALL inside out pants (and shirts too), I did the unthinkable.  The little snarky voice from deep within me (ok, its really not all that deep) called out, "What the heck!  How come these silly trouser wearers can't manage to get out of their pants without making more work for you. Why not just fold up the double legged pant puller outers and put them in the baskets and then the offenders can right their own pant wrongs!"

So I did. 

All better!

And you know what, no one died from it. 

In fact, no one even seemed to care. 

When my family members pull their out-turned pants out of their drawers they set them right and wear them and don't say a word to me about it.  Not a single word.

So I didn't go back.  And I don't freak out about the pants so much anymore. 

Who knew that snarky voice inside me could facilitate a happy ending.  Nice job snarky voice.  You saved the day (and the laundress' sanity).  It's a win.  For all of us.

1 comment:

happy wheels said...

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