I hate doing laundry.
I mean, REALLY hate doing it.
I love the feeling of it being all done, though. You know, that feeling when every piece of clothing in the house is clean, folded and put away in its respective home?
Sadly, it never lasts. Because just when I survey the full drawers of clean white underwear, freshly washed jeans, crisply ironed blouses and the like, and finally breathe that sigh of relief, the horrifying realization hits.
I realize that in order for me to REALLY have accomplished the Herculean feat of having laundered every.single.piece. of dirty laundry in my home, we’d all have to be standing around buck naked.
And the only person in our home who would be happy with that situation would be The Manimal.