« A New Year, a new kind of list | Main | Long weekends float my gravy boat »

August 30, 2006

Two socks plan an insurrection.

Laundry day is a sad time in my home. The entire process begins long before the actual trip to the laundry room (a.k.a. my garage). Several days beforehand I contemplate the Great Underwear Crisis, weigh the options, poll the troops. Is it better to buy more or break down and wash what I have? Supplies run low. The troops get uneasy. The backup panties are called onto the scene.

Like all wars, this one is fought out amidst a backdrop of financial need. The perilously low bank balance signals our leader that the time to launder is now, since buying new underthings is just not a practical expenditure. Sacrifices must be made.

Laundry must be done.

The sleeping giants (a.k.a. housecats) have to be roused from their comfy perch atop Mount Laundry. Clothes hangers have to be untangled. (Did I tell ya'll I have a theory about this? It involves missing socks. I believe that all missing socks turn into coat hangers. Think about it. Have ya'll ever had a coat hanger shortage during an abundance of paired socks? The two do not intersect. It is a laundry day vortex. We are its innocent victims.)

Finally, the casualties of Laundry Day find themselves clinging perilously to the bottom of the pile: barrettes, movie stubs, gum wrappers. Like an archaeologist I sift through the remains, hoping to uncover a treasure. I once found the remote control there, fraternizing with a pair of jeans. It was a happy day.

The spoils of war get lugged off to the laundry room, where they wash and whirl and fluff and dry. Laundry Day comes to a close, with the Final Folding Summit. I survey the damage, and realize how close I came to being vanquished by a tower of dirty clothes that threatened to trap me inside my house forever.

I sigh with relief.

I have clean underwear. I am victorious. I have won the battle... for now.


Posted by laurie at August 30, 2006 9:02 AM