I am seriously considering asking for another washer and dryer for our home. And quite frankly, I find the thought ridiculous. It’s not that I have some sort of weird laundromat fetish (though I do find experiences at the laundromat oddly enjoyable) it’s just that I want to get the task done as quickly as possible. I don’t know how large families keep up with laundry. Hell, I don’t know how couples with a kid or two keep up with laundry. I can’t keep up with laundry and there’s only two of us. It’s a good thing Tom wears his fur coat 24/7.
Earl and I are going to a business gathering tonight. We need to look presentable so that means I can’t just throw on a pair of baggy shorts and a t-shirt as I’ve become accustomed to since becoming a college student. I need to look nice and Earl likes to do the same. This event, coupled with our recent camping excursion, has resulted in my being handed the task of making sure the laundry is caught up.
I still live by the “empty washer and dryer by the end of Sunday night” rule, however, this week I achieved the goal by not doing any laundry. Running around the Mulberry Bush dictates that we should do our wash on Monday so that’s what I did. Except that I lost interest after the first load and a half. I think I was distracted by “Leave It To Beaver” being moved to another time slot on TV Land. Perhaps it was an engaging chat on insant messenger. Whatever the reason, Earl and I were knee-high in dirty clothes in the laundry room and Earl gave me “the look”. I hate it when he gives me “The Look”, which is not to be confused with “The Look of Love” or even “The Look of Lust”. This was “The Look of Laundry”, which is almost as deadly as “The Look Of You Spent Money Again”.
One of the issues I have with laundry is that we both have closets full of clothes but Earl has elected to limit his wardrobe to two pairs of work pants, two pairs of jeans and a smattering of shirts. Since 2+2=4 (thanks college math!) and there’s seven days in the week, and probably many more ensemble changes, this means that I could theoretically run overtime on keeping up with the wash.
I’d continue this entry but the dryer just played it’s annoying buzz to let me know it’s time to get hustling with the laundry.