So apparently laundry doesn't fold itself. Not even if you leave it in the basket for like a week. No matter how much of it you heap onto an already-teetering pile, it just sits there and wrinkles. There are no magic fairies (coughCurtiscough), no amazing miracles (coughCurtiscough), no laundry-folding gnomes (coughCurtiscough). Or hell, I'll just say it: no helpful spouses ... Curtis.
Seriously, I hate folding laundry. I would rather scrub the toilet than fold laundry. And y'all? I have little boys. Pee-spraying, non-aiming, poo-smearing little boys. So that right there should tell you something.
I will do laundry - as in, put it in the washing machine and move it to the dryer - all day. Our clothes are always clean: that's not the problem. The problem is that I despise folding it and putting it away so much that it ends up sitting in the basket until the pile of clean clothes is, like, taller than my three-year-old. And then it gets sifted through and stuff gets strewn all around outside the basket and I'm like, "Is this clean or dirty?" and I have to sniff it which sometimes reeeeally sucks if the item is dirty. You catch my drift. Sweaty boxer shorts = barf-o-rama.
I hate that everything we own is always wrinkled, but in order for it to not be wrinkled, I'd have to put it away promptly. And I hate that more than wrinkled clothing so ... there you go.
I don't even know why I dislike folding laundry so much. It's not like it's hard. It's not like I end up sweaty and panting by the end. It's not like it stresses me out and makes my blood pressure skyrocket, or is so mentally taxing that it hurts my brain. So what is it? I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's just because I know that most of the clothes I so carefully fold will either be a.) knocked out of their neatly folded stack by a dog, cat, or child before I even get to put it away, or b.) promptly rummaged through and left in a wad in the drawer. Or maybe it's because it never. Ever. Ends. Like, I can fold three loads of laundry and then the next afternoon? I'll have to do it all over again. Ad infinitum.
I guess I should be grateful that I don't have to beat it on a rock, or scrub it on a washboard, or hang my unmentionables out on a clothesline for the world to see. But still. I'm holding out hope for the existence of those laundry-folding gnomes.