This is the stuff that slowly oozes through my mind at 6am…and no, I'm not proud of it.
Yesterday, I thought that I’d be a stand up guy and help my wife out by throwing in a few loads of laundry. We have three daughters and dirty clothes accumulate. Hey, every little bit helps, right? Judging from the mountains of clothing I found you might think I’m living with roughly 400 people. (That’s just the hamper in the bathroom.) Along with the clothes, our bathroom closet has more hair products than John Kerry, possibly, with mousse, hair gels, sprays, volumizers, de-tanglers and conditioners. It’s hair for God’s sakes not some weird science experiment. The products have these cutesy names like Freeze, GOT2BE and Punk’d. I ask my wife, what the hell is all this stuff for? She never really answers me she just kind of laughs as she asks me for her Origin’s Facial Exfoliant. At 6AM I don’t want to exfoliate anyone or anything, thanks anyway. I'm off on a tangent yet again.
The laundry situation is out of control, haywire, nutso and beyond my imagination and I think I know why. Guys will put on anything that looks like it may have been washed, meaning, if it’s folded, it’s wearable. We don’t stop to smell the clothes to check for freshness or whether they have that new “Springtime” Bounce dryer sheet aroma. We will wear the same thing all day long, no matter how dirty it gets. We may, however, change if we have to attend a wake or visit a loved one in a sterile environment such as the ICU at a local hospital. We, as men, create less laundry and therefore don’t view soiled laundry as the serious health hazard that our female counterparts do.
I’ve witnessed firsthand all three of my daughters as they go through two weeks worth of clothing in a vain effort to find something to wear to church on Sunday mornings. They put on a shirt—nope, not right. Off it goes, its destination, the slagheap that is the bedroom closet floor. A perfectly good, clean shirt gets transformed into a dust bunny collecting ball of wrinkled cotton. Onto shirt #2. Nope, won’t work either, the color is all wrong. Shirt #3. Same thing, for different reasons this time. We’re not even to the "picking out jeans" stage yet and the closet door is now bulging open and can't be closed unless I rent a winch from Taylor Rental. If this isn’t bad enough, when they’re done going through everything in their drawers they come after my stuff. Gaad, this is getting scary. The part I love the most is when I hear them say to their mother, “Mom, we don’t have anything to wear!” No kidding. You girls just tried it all on. Ah, women and laundry, it's no wonder they go so well together. Someday I will get my favorite shirt back. Mark my words…