A Laundry Lament

Oh Laundry, why do you take such pleasure in tormenting me so? No matter how hard I try, I just can’t get rid of you. If I were a poet I would write you a sonnet or if I was a musician I would write you a song to express my disdain. There in the dark corners and closets you loom, growing larger and larger by the day, glaring at me with an evil sneer.

You think that the world revolves around you. Can’t you understand that I have better things to do than attend to your needs? I do three loads of adult laundry one day, then three loads of kid laundry the next, followed by two loads of kitchen & bathroom towels and then I do it all over again. The cycle never ends. And, heaven forbid, if I should miss a day then you torture me twice as much the next.

You hurt me at the core, just when I think we’ve begun to make amends. Like that time in the Spring when you came out of the washing machine with rust spots and forced me to search high and low for rust removal remedies. Then when I had given up hope of ever taking you out of the washer cleaner than when I put you in, the spots stopped appearing and you left me in complete puzzlement.

You love to play games with my heart. You hide one sock of a pair and you twist my bra straps into impossible weaves. You hide grease stains until after I’ve dried you, at which point it’s too late to reverse.

You pitch fits like a little baby if you don’t get what you want. You turn funky colors if you’re not sorted in precisely the right way. And you take twice as long to dry if the lint trap isn’t emptied often enough. You begin to emmit an awful musty smell if I leave you in the hamper too long, as if to say, "ha ha!"

You refuse to heed my warnings. How many times must I tell you? If you conceal ball point pens and chap stick in your pockets then you will only end up getting hurt in the end.

You take and you take and give so little in return. I appreciate the occasional quarter or dollar that you surprise me with, but for how much time you demand I think I deserve an occasional fifty, at least.

Oh Laundry, my life would be so much easier without you and your evil ways. But the truth of the matter is that I need you. So as much as it pains me to admit it, I think we're stuck with each other.