Successful people…can do laundry

A successful person wakes up in the morning at the start of a bright, fresh day. They stretch with the sun, look outside, and sigh as the warmth and light washes over them. 

First on the to-do list?  Laundry. But for them this is not a chore, they do not need to scour the floor trying to discern between the clean clothes and the dirty. They have a hamper, with all the worn clothes in it. 

In preparation, they eat granola and fruit, brush their teeth then hop into their running shoes and coordinated jogging suite. If they’re doing laundry, goshdarnit, they might as well make it an event!

That's when they throw their laundry bag over one shoulder and jog to the laundry mat down the street (really successful adults have washing machines, but that’s another story). 

While waiting for their clothes, they do laps around the neighborhood.

250 calories lighter and clothes freshly cleaned, they jog back home and enjoy the rest of their day feeling both accomplished and really all right with the world.

I…end up with moist, wrinkly clothes that I was better off not washing in the first place

I had to do laundry last weekend. I knew this because I was down to my last pair of skanky white granny panties.

Clothes were all over the floor, including the pants I had removed where I stood and were still upright, inviting me to jump back into them at a moment’s notice. Convenient! 

It pained me to disrupt this obviously superior system, but I did so for the sake of everyone who had to be around me. 

I put the clothes in my hamper/laundry basket and headed to the laundry mat with my boyfriend. 

We put everything in a machine and left, exercising our power of freedom while other suckers wasted away waiting for their clothes to dry.

High on rebellion when we returned, I was all smiles until I noticed that there were none of my clothes where my clothes had been.

Panicking, I imagined the myriad of ways in which my clothes were being pet and rocked like a baby by an insane clothes-stealing maniac. 

But then I spotted them. Someone had TAKEN THEM OUT. This was better, but I was still really pissed that some stranger had their hands all over my stuff.

For this, I treated the perpetrator to a passive aggressive rant. This consisted of me turning to my boyfriend in her near vicinity and loudly saying, “I’m really pissed!”

She didn't flinch and he just kind of stood there then announced he had to leave for work. This meant I was stuck drying everything. Not my forté. I’m terrified to the point of paranoia of my clothes shrinking, due to the fact that I have a longer than average torso and belly shirts happen to not be my thing.

I stuck my hand in and everything felt hot and dry so I figured enough was enough. As I was leaving, a sudden torrential downpour outside made for a both foreboding and ironic sign.

When I got home I immediately wanted to put on sweatpants. It is not in my nature to wear real clothes at any part of the day in which it's not absolutely necessary.

But when I reached for them, they were not the warm, comfortably ill-fitting sweatpants I wanted them to be. Instead, they were a moist, crumply mess.

Heart sinking, I felt the rest of the clothes. All wet – including my boyfriend’s.

The worst possible thing I could imagine at that moment was returning to the laundry mat, so I hastily begun to hang up everything on any surface I could find and turned the heat on high.

But this did nothing, and hours later the moistness remained like a sopping mark of failure on my life.

When my boyfriend came home, he looked at all the hanging wet clothes around him and then at me.

Lying in bed, I just kind of looked back.

“I’ll go dry them,” he said.

Thanks, boyfriend!