Living My Best Laundry Life


This is the shelf over the TV in my living room.

The clothes here belong to my husband and my daughter.

You think this post is going to be me griping about them not putting away their clean clothes after I have lovingly laundered and folded them.

You are right, but only partially so.

Let’s take a closer look.

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Had I written this yesterday, it would’ve been a post where I griped about nothing beyond the fact that the clothes hadn’t been put away.

But NO.

Apparently getting dressed this morning required thing #2 disheveling a pile of lovingly laundered and folded t-shirts.

The only thing I love more than folding laundry is folding it twice.  Not that it will be an issue.  Because, let’s be real.  The only world where I’m going to re-fold these lovingly laundered and folded t-shirts is one where dog shit smells like roses.

And, just for fun-sies, let’s take a look even closer.

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Can you tell these shirts have been folded wrong-side out?

In addition to my countless other super charming mother-of-the-century qualifying traits, I tell you this:  I don’t turn laundry (other than my own) right side out before folding it.

Because life is short.

And, I’m kinduva bitch.

On one occasion, it led to my husband showing up to my birthday dinner with his shirt on wrong side out.

Such an occasion would likely lead most sane, fully-functioning, living their best lives folks to start turning the damn clothes right side out before folding them.

Since I’ve never claimed sanity or full functioning or living my best life, that solution isn’t for me.

I’ll write a blog post instead.

Happy Friday, Friends.  Get out there and live YOUR best laundry life this weekend.







One thought on “Living My Best Laundry Life

  1. Confessing here…
    In the old days your uncle wore a suit and tie to work M-F and to church each Sunday. With three young children to care for and not a lot of extra time, I would sometimes iron only what was visible of his shirts — collar, cuffs, and enough of the front, so he could unbutton his jacket. To the world (meaning the elderly ladies who noticed such things) it looked like his sweet wife spent hours ironing each week.

    One day he was teaching Sunday School in a horribly hot classroom and caught my eye. He mouthed, “I’m sorry” as he took off his jacket and my ironing secret was exposed.

    That afternoon I lovingly ‘suggested’ he could iron his own shirts from that point on. Interesting that he soon decided the pick-up and delivery service at Ingram Cleaners was the best thing EVER.

    Thankful you don’t turn t-shirts inside out. Thankful you don’t re-fold. Thankful your generation is less concerned with pretense than mine was.

    Love you.


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