My least favorite chore is laundry. I’m not even sure why.
Maybe it’s the frustration of a lost sock or a shrunken sweater, or the fact that I can never truly get the funky smell out of my front-loading washer.
Maybe it’s the inevitable fact that my dog will definitely flop herself onto the bed the minute I have folded all the laundry, covering the clothes that have been clean for mere moments in a full coat of short, blonde hairs.
Maybe it’s just the way it never ends, and never will. The act of emptying the basket, then changing into my clean pajamas and refilling it with the day’s cast offs.
I know I have to do it, but that doesn’t make it any better.