Battling the Laundry Basket

I am quite certain laundry will be the death of me.

It’s always there keeping a sharp eye on me, tapping its foot and biding its time…

a growing laundry basket of neatly folded whites, snarling at my procrastination....

a teetering pile of towels, staring disapprovingly in my direction....

a mass of unmatched socks tangled together in a hopelessly lovesick pile.

Laundry doesn’t say a word, mind you. It never does.

Rather, it’s eerily silent.

But, its silence doesn’t prevent the judgment.

Oh, no. It stares down its nose, whispering quietly among itself.

It casts judgment with one cold stare.

Then, it sits and waits, growing fatter by the day.

Because it knows, in the end, it will win the war.

And, I sit avoiding its gaze and wishing it away….

only to attack it suddenly one day with brutal force, folding and putting it away.

“I’ll show you who’s in charge,” I say, as I manhandle the socks.

“You condescending old rag,” I curse under my breath.

“You try to keep on top of all this mess,” I lecture.

Then, the drawers and closets are once again full. And, I am quite happy to have won the battle.

I know. I know.

The war will rage again soon.

But, I can enjoy the cease fire in the meantime.