Isn’t me confessing weird creepy things about myself so compelling? Yes I think so too. This week is a doozy, so much so that I’ll probably have to break it down into different installments. Here it goes: I am . . . obsessive compulsive. Not to the point where it interferes drastically with my life like I know it does some people. For me, I prefer to call it organized to the hilt. We’ve all got things we feel like we NEED to do in order to keep the universe aligned. Right? But I think I obsess and compulse more than the average bear.
Today I will specifically address laundry. Far be it for me to tell someone how to do their laundry. This is just how I do it, and will continue to do it until trolls come and eat off my hands.
I, of course, do the routine separation of lights, darks, and whites. This has been done since the dawn of time, and I hold true to that tradition where laundry is concerned. I have a top-loading washer so I fill the washer with water, detergent, and love, then I put in the clothes. I know some people do it the opposite way, but that’s not how the bottle says to do it. And I always listen to the bottle.
First go in the lights. Then the whites. Then by that time I’m tired of doing laundry and I do the darks the next day. There are reasons why I do it in this particular order but they are really too crazy and absurd to talk about here. Let’s just say it has been well thought out. As you can see, if there is an emergency washing of toddler sheets etc, this totally throws off my system, and irks me to no end. But I am not unbending. I adjust.
Drying is pretty straight forward; however, the buzzer noise that signals the end of a cycle must always be turned off. If it’s turned on, then I know I’ve got ghosts in my house (or a sneaky Husband). Also the lint trapper is always cleaned so as to avoid the things that happen if it gets too dirty. Things like global warming, bad hair days, and snakes on airplanes.
Then comes time to fold and put the clothes away. This is where the real work begins. The clothes are divided into piles according to which clothes belong to which person. Sometimes this can be tricky, especially when there are certain little people around the house who think things should go in a different pile. The clothes are then folded and grouped into even smaller categories, such as shirts, pants, underwear, socks, mystery pieces of fabric. Again there is the problem of conflicting views on what belongs where. Then they remain in the laundry basket until I have a burst of energy to put them in their proper place, and after I’ve had a good helping of chocolate and/or ice water.
Shirts are hung with the front of the shirt facing left. There is of course grouping of long sleeve shirts and short sleeve shirts. I try to also keep like colors together. With the Husband rummaging through his side of the closet though, these efforts usually end up scattered. Last week I found one of his white Sunday shirts mixed in with his casual work shirts and I about bit off my lips.
Underwear goes in the drawers. And since I do laundry faster than the supply of underwear can be used (thank you very much), I usually rotate the older pairs, and put the freshly cleaned ones on the bottom or in the back . . . because I know the Husband will just grab whatever is closest. Why do I do this? Because each pair of underwear deserves to be worn, and worn in well. Simple as that. I want even wear-and-tear across the board. I wonder if the Husband has noticed I do this or if he just takes his evenly worn unders for granted.
And the most uncanny thing of all: I do not iron. Okay, maybe once or twice a year. That is it.
Now that I’ve said way too much, I’ve got to go fold this basket of darks. It's beckoning me to come hither.
A nice weekend to you all. Rest up.