Laundry day

I don't like doing laundry. Fortunately, my washer and dryer are upstairs with the bedrooms so the only laundry that has to be drug up and down the stairs is minimal--kitchen things, towels for the two half baths, sheets for the double bed in the basement on very rare occasions. And I have a new washer and dryer, so why am I complaining? I miss hot water. Yeah, I know washing in cold water is supposed to be as good as hot water, but it just doesn't feel right. My new washer won't even rinse anything in hot water, although it will wash in hot water. I also don't care for liquid detergents, especially since I have to buy the kind that is odorless and colorless and allergy-proof. Laundry just doesn't smell right now. I also have to use the hypoallergenic fabric softener sheets--again, odorless. I don't miss the days when I had to hang clothes out on the clothesline, where dust, rain, bird poop, wasp nests, and other "natural" elements interfered with the arduous task--but I miss how sheets used to smell. I don't miss the ironing involved with line-dried clothing, but my laundry tactics these days leave me with clothing that has no scent at all. If something is dirty, it will be soiled and have odor, but if something is clean, shouldn't it smell clean as well as look clean?

What I really hate about doing laundry is the dryer buzzer. I can turn it off, but if I do, I won't get the stuff out of the dryer before it wrinkles. The buzzer, though, is obnoxious, kind of like the "wrong!" buzzer on game shows. Why doesn't someone come up with a sound that is loud enough but still pleasant?

I also hate folding. I don't mind hanging clothing straight out of the dryer, but boy, those king-sized sheets are impossible unless two people are folding. And why I fold underwear, I don't know. Does anyone care if panties are wrinkled? Who sees them, after all? Why don't I just wad them down into the bureau drawer and forget about it? Because Esteemed Spouse folds undies, that's why. All too often I feel like a slob compared to Mr. Neatnik, and since I can't keep up with him on keeping our home offices neat, I can at least fold my underwear. He even pairs up his socks and arranges them by color in his sock drawer so that he can get out a pair even in the dark. (The only time the man needs to dress in the dark is when he's getting up for an early tee time. Given his other clothing when he plays golf, no one would notice his socks. He could have on one plaid one and one white one. It wouldn't matter.)

And you should see the closet. His part of it is sparse, regimented, starched dress shirts grouped by color; dry-cleaned dress pants grouped by color; suit jackets grouped by color and seasonal weight; casual pants and jeans grouped separately; pull-over shirts grouped nicely together, all the hangers hanging the proper way, no back and forth. My side--well, let's just say it looks like organization is lacking. Admittedly, my hangers all face the same way. The pants are all on one side. That's it. No other groups. No method to the madness.

Which brings us to the last thing I hate about doing laundry. Hanging clean clothing back in my closet. Trying to find enough room to squish more things in with those already there. This business about throwing it out if you haven't worn it in a year? Hah. Yeah. Right. It's hanging in my closet even if I've never worn it and probably never will. (I have a tendency to buy things online that I don't return even if I dislike them or they don't fit.)

And then there is the purse tree. No one needs two dozen purses/handbags/clutches (and whatever other words there are to refer to the same damned thing). But I have at least that many. How many do I use? One. I find one I like and use it regardless of season or color match until I get tired of it. Then I buy several more in a futile effort to find another one I like as much. At least last time I sent one to my sister as a birthday gift. (It was a new one, okay? I don't send her used stuff.)

I'll leave shoes for another day. They deserve a posting all their own. Besides, the damned dryer is buzzing again. S.