I don’t do laundry everyday, but I do have at least one load of laundry to do a day. Ya got that? Let me know if you don’t understand that nuttiness.
My kids’ clothes go in HOT (no matter what the color) because they’re germ monsters.
The clothes the hubs and I wear get sorted into darks and lights for cold and warm or hot loads (yup, special treatment because we don’t grow a few inches every few months, nor have we bought new clothes in years).
Unfortunately for my husband, I don’t take special care to check labels (if it’s in the pile, it’s going into the washer and probably straight to the dryer, unless he’s asked me to specifically hang something up because he doesn’t want it to shrink). Yes, that means many an item has been destroyed because it was left in the pile when it should have been pulled out for our semiannual trip to the cleaners.
Call us frugal. Lazy. Practical. Stubborn. I don’t really care what you call us, but I know I don’t live in a world where I’m gonna take a 3-month-old baby outfit to the dry cleaners!!
Congratulations to the lucky bastard who does — my hat’s off to you, kind person.
I bet you also iron your shit, right? My poor hubby knows better than to ask me to pull the ol’ iron out. We don’t even own an ironing board. Yes, I make it a point to buy clothes that can be easily thrown into the dryer with a small damp towel to get the wrinkles out. It’s not that I don’t want to spend the time doing it (OK, well, there is that downfall), but I swear no matter what I do, I’ll have one side that’s wrinkle-free and then, when I turn whatever sleeve or pant leg over, the other side has wrinkles that were worse than when I started! And then there’s the whole sweating issue because the heat from the iron is like an inferno steaming up into my face whilst I try to get ready for whatever special event we’re headed to as that’s the only time I ever succumb to the no-wrinkle pressure.
So, no, I’m not ironing any baby clothes, either, in case you were wondering.
OK, sorry about that rant, but I had to get it off my chest (because I ruined a super-cute fuzzy sweater outfit that was handed down to me for my munchkin). Off to the kitchen to roast my chicken …