So, I kind of love doing laundry. There. I said it. Don’t ask me to do yours.

Towels are my favorite. I think there’s something so therapeutic about washing and folding a large load of towels. The repetition and the instant gratification of a towering stack of clean towels is very satisfying. I feel a sense of pride when I place them in the linen closet. Seriously. I know it’s weird.

Socks are gratifying, too. Match them up, roll them into little balls, and before you know it you have a whole basket full of clean little sock balls. Who doesn’t love clean little sock balls? Only people who wear dirty, crusty socks – that’s who. And nobody is going to admit to that.

My sister lives in NYC and pays per pound to have all of her laundry cleaned. That’s astonishing to me – I wash certain items certain ways. Pants that fit get lined dried, pants that are too big get dried on heavy high, dress shirts get the hand wash setting, sheets get washed in hot water, and underwear and socks go in the same load.

And everything must be dried in the dryer with dryer sheets. I hate the smell of anything that has been line dried.

Maybe I should open a laundromat. Or just get help for my OCD.

The only thing I don’t like about doing laundry is having to wash my husband’s uniform. He’s a paramedic – do I really need to elaborate on the saliva/feces/brain matter that has shown up on his uniform? Most of the time he’s fairly tidy with the bodily fluids, but I really did have to wash a coat covered in brains once. It was just sitting with the rest of the dirty laundry like it was no big deal.

I’ve also almost been impaled by a syringe taking clothes out of the dryer. That was a hoot.

Laundry isn’t all fun and games. It’s a dirty and dangerous job! Remember that the next time you see me spacing out with a little smile on my face while folding towels.

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