Laundry

I don’t mind doing laundry.  Folding towels and matching socks have always been a calming chore for me.  You can get lost in your thoughts while smelling that wonderful smell of Bounce.

Lately, it has become a thorn in my side.  A chore I dread.  I cannot see the floor of my laundry room because of all the dirty clothes.  Smelly, stinky, greasy clothes. 

My eldest son is the criminal in this story.  Twenty-four years old, still lives at home (which is fine, I like him), works three jobs, and goes to school two nights a week. 

His jobs are:

  • Mechanic – produces greasy, smells like gasoline, smeared with all kinds of car fluids and oil dirty clothes
  • FireFighter – presents clothes with the distinct odors of smoke and fuel, smeared with whatever the crew ate that day, and sometimes covered with splatters of “I don’t even want to know” clothes
  • Strong Guy – carries and helps deliver sports equipment to high schools.  These clothes are just smelly especially if it’s a hot day.

He was just on a short vacation and I did all this laundry while he was gone.  I started to count his shirts…and stopped at 47.  This is not including his fire department shirts.  Twelve pair of jeans…twelve!  I don’t have that many and I’m a girl!

Why won’t guys throw out clothes when they are past their usefulness?  Can’t throw out that shirt because it’s a good working on cars shirt, or a good painting shirt, or good for when he goes camping shirt, or good for yard work shirt. To me they are rags.  He has jeans with so many holes he could sell them to some teenager for a lot of money.  Those grunge kids love that crap.

I don’t even want to discuss what it is like when my college student son comes home.  More dirty clothes, and they fight over whose turn it is to use the washer.  One will take wet clothes out of the washer and jam them into a laundry to rot and mildew.  The other one will take clean clothes out of the dryer and shove them in a basket and then everything is a wrinkled mess.

I told him tonight that he either keeps his laundry up, or he will have to go to the laundromat.  He said he will try.  Then I went in the kitchen to get myself a bowl of the yummy chili I made yesterday…it was all gone…he ate it….. all.   I forgot to mention that he is a bottomless pit.

Then I tripped over his boots. 

It was so much easier when the were young.

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3 responses

  1. Sounds like an easy compromise: if you wash his laundry, you get to decide when something is worn out. My brother took over his own laundry long ago (he is also still at home) for similar reasons. I got out of doing family laundry after an unfortunate incident with my dad’s underwear and a red sock (it was a total accident but certainly worked in my favour!). I love my hubby dearly, but he has some incredibly hole-y clothes which he won’t let me mend because they’re “comfortable” (but then he growls when I poke him in the armpit holes- is that fair I ask you?). He has gotten slightly better about tossing socks once his whole heel hangs out at least- lol!

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