My lord, you'd think I have a houseful of kids all under 10 -- not just two old foggy adults at retirement age. Once again, I'm trying to slay the laundry dragon.
I have a wonderful washer that holds super-sized loads (thank you, Hubby) and a very functioning dryer -- but they are both down 15 steep steps, in a basement that has become a dumping ground for old furniture, seasonal clothing. and craft supplies that should be thrown away. Neither Hubby nor I clean the basement anymore. Instead, twice (or once) a year, Hubby brings in his crew of workers and supervises their cleaning. In honesty, they only do a fair job -- but it's better than no job at all. So going into the basement is rather like facing up to a responsibility that I should shoulder but have no intention of doing (my heirs can take on the job) and I end up feeling guilty. Plus the stairs are deep and narrow and hurt my knees and back -- and carrying laundry up and down wears me out -- without having done a lick of laundry itself.
Once, when Hubby's knees were much better than they are now, he volunteered to do the wash. Except his idea was to put everything in one load and wash it all on hot. He did sort colors, kind of, so things did not come out all pink, but he wouldn't sort by delicates. So he shrunk all the nice tee-shirts and fine cottons. He also didn't think you had to remove things from the dryer for two to three weeks so everything got hideously wrinkled. He was quickly banned from laundry duty. Now his knees are so bad that he really can't navigate the stairs unless we have an emergency in the basement (leaking pipes, water heater pour water, drying not functioning, etc.).
Consequently, I have multiple excuses for not doing laundry. Still, in my heart I know that owning my own washer and dryer is a huge luxury and I should man-up to the chore and do it a lot more often.
Today, my first day of real summer vacation, in consequence of me not doing any laundry in May, is washer-woman day. Hubby hasn't a pair of shorts left and has resorted to wearing long pants -- something he is not complaining about, but I know that his summer costume is only shorts and sport shirts. Yesterday, a very hot 90 degrees, he was in long pants with a long sleeved shirt and I knew that I finally had to face up to the piles of laundry. Thankfully, we both have enough underwear to go six weeks or more without worrying.
I hate the sorting process. It requires me to bend over the huge piles of laundry stacked up in our bedroom, drag it to the bed, and stuff it into the laundry bags. Then those heavy bags have to be dragged down the steep, narrow stairs (I can't carry them) and resorted into the washer. Even worse is the drying process of folding, hanging, and turning things right-side out. Finally everything has to be dragged back up those steep, narrow stairs.
If I ever find that fairy godmother, the first thing (okay, one of the top 10 things ) I'm asking for is a laundry room on the same floor as the bedroom. I can only imagine how sweet that would be! But then what would be my excuse for not doing this "dirty" chore?