I do not consider myself to be naturally domestic. I didn’t learn to cook until I discovered the Food Network and could actually see what people meant by dice, sauté, and deglaze. I learned to clean through necessity, and almost died in the process. (Note to self: do not mix bleach and ammonia, very toxic.) And when I could no longer afford to keep buying new underwear I finally broke down and learned how to do my own laundry.
Laundry, a chore which continues to baffle me to this day. I’m not sure why I am so overwhelmed by this task. It’s not like I have to haul my clothes down to the river and beat them with a rock. I have modern GE appliances, right in my own house, and still I suffer the humiliation of being beaten down by dirty clothes.
I learned early on that ignoring the piles does not work. In fact, laundry left alone for one day multiplies like rabbits, taunting me in the process. I tried hiring my daughter. This worked for about one week until she started forgetting and blamed it on her self-diagnosed ADD.
I even went so far as to hire a contractor to build me a larger laundry room, thinking that if I had more space, I would be more efficient. That was a mistake, now my multiplying laundry has more room to multiply. The more I was overwhelmed with my laundry, the more depressed I became, feeling like I had some character defect because of my inability to overcome this problem.
Until one day, while begrudgingly folding laundry in front of the TV, I saw Kelly Ripa dancing around her house pulling her clothes out of her Electrolux washer/dryer. Her clothes were folding themselves and putting themselves away and I realized I was wrong. My problem wasn’t with myself, and some deep-seated deficiency in moral character. No, all this time, I simply had the wrong machines.