America, we’ve got a big problem. I know I say that a lot, but this time the problem actually affects me. We’ve got a dirty clothes epidemic.
This week I became a semi-stay-at-home-dad. I’m adjusting to a world of play-dates and lunchboxes and laundry, and I’ve got to tell you…I’m not washing this fecking laundry anymore!
I want you see what two days of freshly washed clothes looks like:
I’m Not Washing This Wh Laundry Anymore!
What a nightmare! And this doesn’t include the hamper downstairs in the actual laundry room, the load in the dryer, or the washer, or the full hamper in my son’s room, or in my daughter’s, or the small pile of my clothes in my bathroom. And my wife’s bathroom? It looks like the planet Dagobah from Star Wars, so I won’t show a picture of that because Totally The Bomb is a family website and I don’t want your children to question the existence of a just and loving God.
Now, I didn’t cause this problem. Do I blame my wife for dumping this mess at my feet? Of course I don’t. It’s not her fault. She’s a sweet woman. No, I blame myself. I knew this was happening and I turned a blind eye. I was like Obama pretending the ISIS problem wasn’t real and now both ISIS and my laundry are about to kill me in my own home.
Most of this mess is my kid’s clothes. My son wears a pair of jeans to church and he comes home and throws them in a hamper. He wears them for maybe two hours in an air-conditioned room and somehow they’re dirty. My son never needs to wash his jeans. He’s a nerd. He only plays sports at practice, never for fun at home. He hangs out at other nerds’ houses and tries to forget what sunlight looks like. Plus, anybody who knows anything about clothes knows that you don’t wash jeans. In my bathroom I keep a little spray bottle filled with vodka that I use to spray down my jeans and do whatever else a tired parent would do with a little spray bottle of vodka hidden in a bathroom.
My wife was pulling clothes from our daughter’s hamper and found clean, folded clothes at the bottom. This is insanity! We’re washing clean clothes!
What I’m trying to say is that my kids’ are horrible people and they don’t make dirty clothes. They don’t have any puberty driven hormones to stink up the joint. They’ve learnt by now how to keep food in their mouths instead of smeared all across their shirts (mostly). Every article of clothing that I pull from the dryer was clean before it got there. I’m not washing dirt, I’m washing laziness. It’s easier to just recycle school uniforms from off the floor every morning than it is to hang them properly.
I actually have dirty clothes. I have a dirty job. My shirt gets covered in dust and print type. Packages leak and I get strange stains splattered across my chest. Sometimes when I come home I reek like a hobo’s butthole. I’m hard on clothing. But my wife is an accountant. What the hell does she dirty up? You can’t spill numbers on your dress, but I’m finding bras in the laundry room. Bras don’t get dirty. My wife smells like fresh flowers all day, yet I’ve got skirts and tops and sweaters piled around me. Am I missing something?
I spent ten minutes this morning sniffing clothes for their freshness. I saved an armful of clean uniforms from a watery grave before…uh…everything took an unfortunate turn when I learnt someone might have pooped themselves a little. Could very well have been me. Now is not the time to point fingers.
You’ve got socks and underwear. If it touches your armpits or your junk, it needs washed. And that applies to everyone. THAT’S IT! An average homemaker is going to spend five months of their life doing laundry. Five months! That’s five months of naps I’m not going to take, five months of video games I’m not going to play. Laundry is too much wasted time for me.