This week, I came to a stunning realization. The laundry in my house has severe emotional problems and is in grave need of professional help. This is the only reasonable conclusion I can draw from the fact that the laundry seems incapable of getting itself into a hamper and, once washed, safely back into a closet without several extended stays in other locations. Surely this assault on our home cannot be the fault of my children or spouse who are extremely capable, loving people. They would never perpetrate such abuses on their laundress-in-chief. The whole situation is very troubling, with the laundry exhibiting constant fatigue, secretive habits and a general lack of confidence. Relocation to a nudist colony would be an appropriate remedy if only it weren’t nearly summer and I didn’t loathe a sun-burnt bum so very much.
Let me tell you about some of the most egregious symptoms. At least three times a week, I walk into my teenager’s room and find a trail of dirty laundry ending at the base of the hamper. It is as if the laundry has tried to reach its destination and has given up just before the finish line. In my infinite wisdom, I have tried showering the dirty laundry with positive affirmations: “You are a finisher!” “You have everything you need to get where you want to go!” “I believe in you. Don’t quit!” Alas, the inside-out jeans persist in their negative attitude and would rather snuggle with the hamper on the floor than go home to glory. I am at my wit’s end and am wondering if the flannel button-downs need Prozac and counseling. This type of self-sabotage can only be a sign of some childhood trauma. Perhaps they were not held enough at the department store?
You would think that giving these poor, sad souls a good wash would improve their confidence: “Guys! You smell like spring flowers! Today is a new day!” I am disappointed to report, however, that the effects of deodorizing these huddled masses of fashion aspiration are minimal. When my children are looking for a favorite pair of jeans, they do manage to take clean clothes out of the dryer and lovingly sling them on a chair in the family room. Afterwards, however, the laundry just loses its get up and go. It lies in the chair and stays parked for hours or sometimes days despite my calls for help on its behalf.
During these times, the living room looks for all the world as if a teenage girl was sitting there playing video games only to be sucked out of the chair and drawn up to paradise in the rapture. The melancholy nature of this scene repels my offspring and my husband to the point that they dare not approach the pile. I alone am strong enough to fold these sorry creatures, place them in a basket and climb the stairs to lay them to rest in their proper place. It is difficult work but someone has got to face that post-apocalyptic feeling head on. It might as well be the woman who already spends her days pretending that her workout leggings are pants.
My current working theory about the entire mess is that the laundry experiences a lot of shame unless it is in pristine, ironed condition. For example, the clothes that my husband wears after work do get slightly dirty in the few hours he wears them. These clothes clearly cannot be called upon to march themselves into a neat pile in the closet. They don’t want to be rejected by the cool, clean clothes on hangers. Those clothes are totally stuck up. Instead, all I can assume is that my husband puts them in their proper place after wearing them. Afterwards, they must slink to the corners of several rooms when he isn’t looking. They lie in wait, silently pleading, “Don’t look at me! I am hideous and cannot bear to mix with polite society until after six o’clock. I crave the cover of darkness!”
Maybe I’ll start a GoFundMe for page my laundry. It seems appropriate when it is suffering so. The treatment may be long and arduous but we are not giving up. In the meantime, it occurs to me that my hard-working children might spend more time caring for the laundry than they have in the past. It has been shown in several reputable studies that bonding with their owner can work wonders on a terribly nervous pair of skinny jeans. Moreover, I once heard of a cardigan who made a miraculous recovery after her laundress threatened to toss her in the trash next time she was found hiding on the laundry room floor. This extreme form of shock therapy apparently inspired her teenage owner to spend more time with the cardigan. She was later found hanging primly in the closet as if she was queen of the world. Mind you, I am not one for extremes, but some of our traumatized t-shirts may have to spend time in the garbage can for therapeutic purposes. It is only fair that I sacrifice this way since I know that if our roles were reversed, my family would do anything they could to help relieve the burden of the laundry.
Charles Barnes says
Perhaps the owner of the misplaced clothing should be assessed a small amount of money for each clothing item each time? The total could then be used to send your laundry out to a commercial laundry … to be returned clean and ironed? The extended vacation for the clothing might reduce its stress kevel … and yours…. ?