The Trials And Tribulations Of Someone Who Hates Doing Laundry

The Trials And Tribulations Of Someone Who Hates Doing Laundry

I am a grown man. I pay my bills. I cook my meals. I slave at a nine-to-five. I invest my money. I serve in the community. I use coupons. I get eight to nine hours of sleep each night.

I don’t do laundry.

I mean, I do it, but I’m not a fan. I hate doing laundry more than I hate Kyle Busch.

You see, physically putting my clothes in a washing machine is not an issue. Transferring those clothes to the dryer isn’t an issue either. I don’t even mind hanging up some of my clothes to dry (because I am a giant and the slightest shrink ruins everything). However, when it comes to taking my freshly cleaned clothes out of the dryer is when everything goes downhill for me.

You’re telling me I now have to take every individual article of clothing and fold it? I don’t have one of those fancy boards that folds your clothes for you and I’m obviously far too lazy to craft one out of some cardboard while watching some how-to Facebook video. I could give fifty attempts and I will never be able to perfectly fold a shirt like it is when I find it in the store. I’m always bound to mess up one of the sleeves or get the whole thing crooked. When it comes to long-sleeve shirts, I’m more confused than an Alabama football player on his first day of class. So I have decided to do what any mature adult would do when facing a difficult and stressful situation – I give up. I now just hang up all my shirts in my closet. Every single one.

Pants honestly aren’t that bad. All you have to do is fold them hot dog style and then fold them hamburger style once or twice. Boom, task complete. Shorts I’m going one hot dog style fold and in the drawer they go. Underwear gets tossed in the drawer without a care. But then I face my final foe, those damn socks.

I stand there and stare at the large pile of black and white cotton tubes mixed in with dress socks of various shades of navy and brown and finally feel completely defeated. I know, I should go through and pair them together, then place them neatly in the drawer so that I can swiftly grab a pair in the mornings. But the temptation lies to just pick up the heap and throw them in the drawer. I guess I could at least separate the dress socks from the rest? Okay, fine, I’ll at least put them in different drawers. By not pairing socks, I will then have to spend a solid five minutes each morning trying to pair them together. If you think I am a psycho for not pairing my socks, let me explain to you that there’s no point. That’s right, I’m a sock nihilist. By the time you go through your socks to pair them, you will always end up with stray socks with no partner with whom to lay. That’s because the damn sock gnome is hiding out in your dryer ready to steal your socks every time you leave them in there. Sock gnomes are real and they are terrorists. Forget ISIS, we need to eliminate the sock gnomes.

I cannot truly stress how much I dread doing laundry. I wait until I am out of underwear or socks. I will let my hamper pile high and stare at it in anguish because I would rather slam my balls shut in a car door than put away my clean laundry. I hate a lot of things, but I hate laundry the most.

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Just a big dude from Virginia who loves Dale Earnhardt, guns, and eating red meat.

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