The Trojans had a horse.
Achilles had a heel.
Superman had kyptonite.
I have laundry.
As I tried to stare down the pile of laundry homesteading on my laundry-closet floor, I had to ask myself how it could be possible for two people to generate so much laundry. I could swear that when we left the house today I only had one load of laundry sitting in the que, yet, when we returned I had three. The only logical explanation is that my laundry has been cross-bred with rabbits.
I started running the washer and dryer with a vengence. Load after load of clean laundry popped out of the washing machine, into the dryer and then onto my bed, where it waited patiently for me to fold it.
I moved it into baskets so I could sleep.
The next day I adjusted the papsan chair and converted it into my new clean-laundry-needing-to-be-folded holding center.
Instead of feeling accomplished, I felt guilty. What kind of June-Cleaver-Wannabe shuffles laundry from one place to another place, perpetually procrastinating on folding and putting it away? A tired one.
I need a laundry gnome.
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