Laundry makes me sad.

It does. Laundry makes me sad. As such, there is quite a large pile of it in my bedroom, just begging to be done. There's a basket of clean laundry sitting on the landing on the stairs just waiting to be folded. And there's some in the washer, waiting to go into the dryer.

How two people, who wear one outfit each day (the yoga pants I put on after work every day don't count as an "outfit"), can make this much laundry is truly a mystery to me. Just wait till there's puked-on onesies and crapped-in pants floating around here someday... I have no idea how that's going to happen. The Laundry Fairy, maybe?

Truth be told, its the folding and the putting away of the clothes that is the real hold up. I could wash and dry clothes all day. It's the folding that just kills me.

One day, when I am rich and fancy (and totally not in my chosen career field), I will hire someone to do my laundry. And to fold it and put it away. Except for my underware. After losing a few pairs in college to some psycho who used to hang out at the laundry building and steal them from the dryer, I am semi-protective of my undies. Plus, I refuse to buy new ones except for when VS sends out little heart shaped coupons for free pairs.... and then I go, get my free undies, and leave without any further purchases because $18 for a pair of undies is highway robbery.

And while we're on the topic of underthings, the word panties just grosses me out. For some reason guys think they're being all suave when they say anything with regards to panties. Someone should tell them it doesn't sound suave at all... it sounds like you're a real creeper.

Also, is it Friday yet?