Hemorrhoidal Tendencies: The Laundry Edition

Welcome to Hemorrhoidal Tendencies, the occasional feature of my blog where I complain about the things in this world that are a pain in the ass. 

Don’t let the name of my blog fool you. I did not get the nickname “Maid” because of my love of housework. Like most normal humans, I would rather do just about anything else. There is one chore I don’t mind though, and that’s laundry. In fact, I kind of enjoy it.

Once I finally grew up into an actual bona fide adult and got my own washer and dryer, my relationship with the wash improved. No more creepy apartment building laundry dungeons or equally creepy laundromats. Yippee!

No more of this…

or this.

 

I find doing the wash soothing and satisfying. If that makes me a weirdo, so be it. I love having everything clean and fresh smelling; folded and put away. I love it when I can wash every single item of dirty clothing except the clothes on my back. If I could convince Mr. Maid that we should adopt Naked Laundry Day in our house, I could get ALL the laundry done for once. The idea of having a house completely free of any dirty clothes – well – that would be a dream come true!

I am perplexed by people who hate to fold and put away their clean clothes. That part is very Zen for me. It also brings out my OCD tendencies. I have a specific way of folding the towels that Mr. Maid can’t grasp. I match up socks and fold them. I even like folding fitted sheets. It’s easy once you learn how. Crazy! Like I said, there’s something wrong with me.

So, you may ask, if I love it so much, what qualifies it for Hemorrhoidal Tendencies? Here are a few things that make it a pain in the ass:

The Fugitive Sock

No, not the ones that mysteriously disappear. For some reason, that doesn’t happen to me. Instead, as soon as I’m finishing up that last load, I’ll discover a single sock that I’ve dropped somewhere on the way to the laundry room. I imagine that little bastard climbing out of the basket saying to the other clothes “Later, suckers! I’m making a break for it!” My husband laughs at my annoyance with this. He’s even tried to tell me that an empty laundry basket is bad luck. Nice try, Mr. Maid.

Back in the basket, jerk.

 

That One Asshole Pillowcase

As I said, I’ve solved the age-old mystery of folding fitted sheets, but that doesn’t mean they’re off the hook in the pain in the ass department. When the buzzer buzzes on the dryer, I expect to pull out a warm, fluffy set of freshly laundered sheets. Not so fast. One asshole pillowcase always manages to wad itself up and hide – still wet – in the corner of one of those fitted sheets. Every. Single. Time. I’ve finally started drying the fitted sheet all by itself. It takes longer, but my sanity was worth the extra time and electricity cost.

The Cleanest Pens This Side of the Mississippi

You would think that Mr. Maid, being a full grown adult man, would be capable of remembering some basic things. Like say, emptying his pockets when he takes off his clothes. Apparently, you would be wrong. I cannot tell you how many pens have gone through wash and dry cycles before I notice them clipped to a shirt pocket. First of all, I don’t understand the sheer number of pens he brings home from work. It’s as if he’s trying to start a black-market office supply store as a side gig. Maybe his new bonus program is being paid out in writing implements? At least they’re making pens a lot sturdier these days. None of them have leaked (knock wood) in a long time.

I try to be diligent about checking pockets before starting. Weeks go by without finding anything, so I get lulled into a false sense of security. It doesn’t help that he wears these ridiculous pants with more pockets than should be allowed.

Not Mr. Maid’s actual pants.

Along with the pens, on more than one occasion, I’ve laundered the following: his pocket knife, flashlight, reading glasses, foam earplugs, bullets and shell casings (don’t ask,) money (finders keepers,) and assorted receipts and business cards.

I tell him he’s trying to drive me crazy, to which he offer’s his usual reply: “Too late.”

 If you’d like to hear me whine about more of my first world problems, click here for more Hemorrhoidal Tendencies.