Dear PETA,
Suck it.
Love,
Julia
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(Everybody get ready: Hilarious non-sequitur alert!)
I hate doing laundry.
My pseudo-psychiatric assessment of WHY I hate doing laundry so much goes back to my childhood...
*Patchoulia silently strokes her scholarly Freudian beard, whilst pursing lips in a manner suggesting that both her brain and her loins are working overtime*
When I was a kid, after my mom died, it became my duty to do the laundry for myself and my dad. I think I was about 9 when this became my designated "chore". I'm not saying that it was undue child labour being forced upon me, most kids have household chores to attend to, and this was actually a fairly pedestrian task and not really all that taxing...I'm just citing it because it's the only thing I can fathom as explanation of my laundry hatred.
When I was in university and I actually had to haul my dirty clothes up and down stairs (and sometimes even down the street!) to reach laundry facilities, I didn't do laundry very frequently, as you can well imagine.
When I got my first apartment in Toronto, after I graduated from university and had my "First Real Job", not only did I continue to eschew the act of doing laundry, sometimes going a month or 2 between trips to the laundromat, but I ended up with the equivalent of 3 peoples' wardrobes. When I ran low on clothing, I simply went out and bought more: Genius!
OK, I know that was stupid. I'm just telling you how it was, illustrating how much I truly dislike doing laundry!
So, the crux of this tale is that, in our household, Poopypants is assigned the job of laundry. Sure, I do it sometimes, but that's his "job". I think he's getting off pretty light, all things considered...I cook most of the time, I do the bathroom, I vacuum, I do 90% of the cleaning. Laundry ain't so bad! :)
Naturally, however, no matter how many times he washes a particular item of clothing, he very rarely remembers the care instructions. I finally got really annoyed, one day, and yelled, "CHECK THE LABEL!!!"
He does have a good capacity for learning and, since that (entirely justifiable) outburst from me, he *has* been checking labels on items for which he cannot recall whether or not they are supposed to go in the dryer! Good boy, Poopypants!The other night while doing laundry, he says to me, "Are you aware that this sweater is made of rabbit?"
And I replied, "What?" thinking that I must have misheard him.
"Are you aware that this sweater is made of RABBIT?!!!"
"WHAT?!!! What sweater? What are you talking about? Rabbit?!!"
"This brown sweater..."
"Bring it here, the dog's on my feet and I don't feel like moving and I don't know to what sweater you're referring."
So he brought me the sweater...and I looked at the label to confirm this ridiculous revelation (as though I thought he was making it up).
10% rabbit.
Maybe it's not even fur! Maybe it's, like, intestines or something!?!
The weird thing is, I bought this sweater from Old Navy i.e. the last place on earth where you'd expect the clothing to have even 1% natural ingredients of any kind! I always thought Old Navy was all acrylic, all the time.
So...do I continue to wear the rabbit-part-infested sweater?
I'm torn.
Probably not as torn as the rabbit, but torn, nonetheless...
2 comments:
My bunny, Pookie, wishes you would boycott the manufacturer of the rabbit clothing. I, on the other hand, think all Canadian women should boycott clothing completely.
I suppose I can see the appeal,to someone intimately unfamiliar with frostbite..but with the climate in these parts, an inevitably & awfully painful sartorial suggestion.
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