I?m going to say something shocking.
I love laundry.
Before you send men with straitjackets to carry me off, let me explain.
Laundry is mindless, yet rewarding. It requires few skills:
1. Separate items by color (you know, keep dark away from light)
2. Pour in a half-capful of detergent. Simple, no?
3. Set water temperature (read clothing label), type of load (delicate, normal, heavy), size of load (small, medium, large), and then turn on the washer.
4. When cycle is done, put clothes in dryer. Before you know it, everything is warm and dry and clean. Voila!
Now, please explain something to me. Why is it that my husband (who is very intelligent) cannot accomplish these tasks without causing disaster? He mixes red with white, and every other color, for that matter. He fills the washer to the top with clothes when the knob is set for a small load. He washes towels with sweatpants, which leaves the sweats covered in tiny balls oflint, and uses so much detergent that everything makes a squishing sound as you pull it out of the washer.
I?ve told him before, “Stay away from the laundry.” Does he stay away? No. Every so often, he has a delusional thought. It must go something like this: “I have some dirty clothes. I?ll do wash. Oh, here?s some other stuff in the basket. I?ll put that in too.” Result? See above.
It could be worse. We have a recently divorced friend. One thing he says really ticked him off? His former wife didn?t make sure he had clean underwear in his drawer. One evening, while dressing for a black tie wedding at a Baltimore hotel, he opened his underwear drawer. It was empty. I?m not sure how he handled that dilemma (don?t want to know), but I think this may have been a final straw in the marriage. So, every time I put a pile of clean, folded underwear on top of my husband?s dresser, I figure there?s a good chance he?ll stick around for another week.
Deborah Stone spent 15 years as a reporter and anchor at WJZ-TV and is currently a freelance writer.
