I loathe keeping house. Okay, perhaps that’s a wee bit extreme. I don’t loathe all of it. Just certain aspects.
Like emptying the dishwasher, folding laundry, ironing and cleaning bathrooms.
Add to that putting away clutter and picking up socks off the floor. Like seriously, why are there socks left willy nilly in this house? And not even discarded together. I’ll find one sock in the family room and another on the steps leading upstairs.
I want to ask my family: what happened? You took one sock off over here. Then another over there. Why? Why the long the journey across the house to remove the other sock?
I don’t ask because I know there is no answer. Much like asking why is the sky blue or why a grown man must scratch his junk in public, it is what it is.
On a side note, what’s up with dryers periodically eating socks? Like is there a sock tax I’m unaware of that all dryers demand? I see the socks go in and yet only one of a pair comes out. It’s as if the dryer is self-righteously proclaiming: Yes human, for every four permanent press cycles completed, you will give up a sock of my choosing.