Dear Laundry,I get it. You're all wrinkled because it's some kind of protest for being left in the dryer too long, right? You're pissed at me because I had a bazillion other things to do and you had to sit there, getting cold, so you wrinkled all up to teach me a lesson? Well here's a news flash: you'll just have to be creased. Because if I can't transfer you from the dryer to the drawers in a timely manner, there's about a snowball's chance in hell that you'll get ironed. So really, the joke's on you.
While we're being honest with each other, let me just lay it all out on the table: I'm getting downright sick of you. You have the audacity to demand washing and drying on a daily basis, when I don't even have time to wash and dry myself on a daily basis. And if I don't get to you right away, you get all spiteful, multiplying like crazy and starting to emit this smell. Are you in competition with the cat box, laundry? Like since you're both in the same room you've got to outdo each other in the straight-up stank category? Well don't worry - I notice your presence, even without your funk. How could I not? You go from a couple of socks and T-shirts to a pile the size of Mt. Everest in a matter of hours. I don't even know how that happens, unless it's some kind of miracle. And by "miracle," I mean big bogus load of crap.
Yeah, I know. You keep my family from being naked. And yeah, that's important. But that? Does not mean you need to repeatedly attempt a hostile takeover. You and your psychological tactics. You know there's nothing I can do but give in to your forceful presence, so you just keep pushing it further and further. Cluttering up my bedroom floor and creeping out into the hallway and stuff. Come to think of it, it's probably a conspiracy. You're probably in cahoots with the other mess-makers in my life - like the cat - and when I'm not looking, you're all, "Hey cat. Why don't you barf on me so she'll have no choice but to put me right in the washer? Bwahahahaha!"
You may think you have the upper hand, laundry, but I'm onto you. And someday, maybe by the time the kids are grown, you will no longer have the power to overwhelm me.
Remember that.
Grudgingly yours, for now -

















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