It’s been a hellish week at work so I’ve tried that strategy I used to use on the kids when they were toddlers, of ‘ignore them and they might just go away’, but the overflowing laundry basket is particularly persistent at drawing attention to itself and refuses to play ball – which makes me THE WORST HOUSEWIFE EVER.
What is it about laundry and that whole reproduction thing it does, particularly during manic work weeks and over-night?
I swear that I got to the half-way mark of the teen basket yesterday and then some asshole in the house decided that it was suddenly okay to change their fucking bedlinen.
FUCKING INCONSIDERATE, in my opinion. NO-ONE puts dirty bedlinen in the basket without permission in my house.
Adding bedlinen to a pile that is already out of control is like adding fat to a fire and my laundry basket already has some evil fertilising night fairy with an agenda and doesn’t need any allies. Which is why you have to get permission to change your bedlinen in our house; and permission only gets given if there’s enough wine in the house to ease the pain, it’s sunny outside or I can increase my medication.
The worst offender is Kurt, who is ODD and needs to change his clothes at least four times after school, thinks it’s a far better idea to put clean-ish bath towels towels in the laundry basket than re-hanging them (FUCK! SHIT! BOLLOCKS!) and has an irritating habit of dropping CoCo Pop milk down every clean shirt he puts on – although the odds are increased because he eats cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
The worst part *deep breath* is sifting through the dry laundry, (and yes I AM AWARE that I’m beginning to sound psychotically housewife technical/anal/vacuous here) – its been a long week. You see, I can manage to get the laundry into the machine on autopilot and then into the dryer with the aid of wine, but once it’s dry I just don’t want to be anywhere near it. Because that involves brain-dead hours of sifting, sorting, matching and putting away and actually, I DO have a brain and there are frankly far more worthwhile things to do with my life, like going on Pinterest and watching The Bachelor.
Which is why I’ve been forced to resort to foul play this evening. I’ve pulled out ‘key’ dirty clothes from the basket, done the sniff test, carefully re-folded them, got the dog to sit on them for a while for warmth and added them to the ‘clean’ pile. Of course I live in fear of being found out if Kurt finds that giveaway drop of CoCo Pop milk down the front, but if that risk saves my sanity, it’s worth it.
Father, forgive me for I have sinned. I am THE WORST HOUSEWIFE.