In our house, I do the laundry. I hate laundry. Hate it. I hate sorting it. I hate loading the washing machine. I hate emptying the lint tray. I hate folding the clothes. I hate putting them away.
But I’ve worked out a system and it at least makes the process streamlined and as fast as possible. I won’t go into all the details because, well, its laundry. But I have my methods.
One of them is that I do the socks at the very end. I just make a pile of them as the loads finish drying and then I match them all up once all the laundry has been done. This way, I’m not spending half an hour searching for missing socks after each individual load. Its brilliant.
At the end of the sock matching game, I put all the unmatched socks in this lovely undergarment holder that came with a pack of Calvin Klein underwear I got years ago.
This bag hangs in my laundry room until the next time I do laundry and I can try to match up some of the lonely socks. But, as everyone knows, socks disappear. Washing machines eat them. Dogs steal them. Husbands lose them. Show me one house in America that doesn’t have a pile of missing socks and I will give you one million dollars.
Or a hand shake.
Probably just a hand shake. Money’s tight right now.
Lately, I have needed some help around the house because of my growing size and shrinking energy level and so I asked Chris to help me out with the laundry. He did a great job. Everything was clean and folded and put where it belonged. But he freaked out at the end about the sock situation. He came across a few single socks in the wash and I handed him my bag of lonely socks and explained that he had to go through them to match them up.
“How is it possible that YOU have so many missing socks?” he shrieked. “That’s just laziness!”
“How is it laziness? They are YOUR socks that are missing!” I replied, somewhat amused.
“You’re just being lazy and not matching up socks,” he said.
“I mean, how hard is it to match up socks?” he continued. “I could do it right now. It just takes time. You’re just being lazy about it!”
So, I stand there in silence and continue to be amused as Chris sorts through all the lonely socks in the sock bag. And after 15 minutes of sorting and huffing and puffing, how many socks has he managed to save?
He saved one measly pair of socks. But he was so proud. So incredibly proud.
“See?” he said. “It just takes a little effort.”
“You’re right, Chris,” I said. “Clearly, I do not have the dedication to laundry that you do. Maybe this is something you are better suited to doing than me. I’m glad we talked about this.”
And I walked out of the laundry room.
“Wait,” he called after me. “What just happened here?”