Having said that, I do~for obvious reasons~enjoy having clean clothes. I like smelling April fresh and I like having more than one outfit in my closet from which to choose when I get dressed in the morning. The unfortunate twist is that, as I really detest the chore, I habitually do just enough to get me through the work week. This slacker behavior produces mounds of unsavory items strewn about on my boudoir floor upon which my cats and my dog like to create snug little nests. The furry people use these nests for afternoon napping and for inundating my clothes with as much pet hair as possible. (You ever notice when you lay out an outfit for the day that, no matter where in the whole house your cat may be, they magickally appear ~SHHHHHHHHOOOOOMP!!!~sitting directly upon said outfit?) I count myself as quite fortunate that they've never yet chosen to defile my discarded clothing with anything other than fur, but I'm knocking on wood as I speak. One never knows with pets. They don't get out much and have few hobbies, so I just know that someday they'll be sitting around the house, bored, and decide to engage in some wicked shenanigans just to entertain themselves. Then they snicker behind their little paws as they observe me launching into nasty tirades over things that would never have happened had I been fastidiously laundering in the first place. Oi.
There is something special, though, about those rare moments when I find the motivation to go that extra mile and do ALL of my laundry at one time. There's something peaceful and relaxing about pulling open my drawer to neatly folded clean undies and socks and swinging open my closet doors to rows of smooth, tidy clothing hung and folded in an orderly fashion. It's kindasorta zen, you know? The act metaphorically taps into some sorta spiritual cleansing. I feel like having all my clothes clean and put away makes the world bigger, better and more friendly. Dunno why. I just do.
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