The Minnesota Farm Woman

Laundry is my favorite household chore. In fact, it is the only household chore that I enjoy doing. Still, I don’t complain when HE does the laundry and would gladly give up any and all forms of housework to anyone that will take them. When I do the laundry, clothes are sorted into three piles: 1) Dark tee shirts, jeans, and my 20 pair of black ankle socks, 2) Medium to light-colored things which are mostly my clothes such as pastel tee shirts and lighter pants or shorts. 3) Whites. This load always contains our white sheets, white towels and HIS 120 pair of white athletic socks. Bleach can be added if necessary. When HE does the laundry, it is two loads only, no matter how large or small, and those loads are either white or dark. White is self-explanatory. Dark is everything that is not pure white stuffed into one load, mixing my pastel colored shirts with the black socks and dirty jeans. We hang our clothes outside most of the time, and I could probably get my own hour on Dr. Phil for the hanging rituals that I have which are admittedly close to OCD. Pants are hung by the waistbands using two clothespins, three if it is windy. Tee shirts are hung by the hems and in order according to owner. Towels are hung on a separate line, end to end and sharing clothespins, sized large to small with wash cloths on the end. The white sheets are on the outside line to be bleached naturally by the sun and never turn yellow, even with my country water that leaves rusty stains in all the sinks. Socks are hung in pairs by the cuffs, and unmentionables are hung on the inside lines and out of sight, just as my mother taught me to do. Him? HE hangs everything upside down and in no particular order. Socks and jeans are hung by the cuffs, his tee shirts are mixed up with mine, and I hate to mention it, but the unmentionables are actually hung on the outside line for the entire world to see! Yesterday, after he did the laundry, I had to run some clothes through the rinse cycle a second time, since they had some soapy-looking spots on them that I was certain came from HIM stuffing the washer too full. I’ll admit that I inwardly rolled my eyes and had thoughts of him leaning on the pile to squeeze in a few more things, then adding enough soap to swab down the deck of the USS Teddy Roosevelt before pushing the start button. I folded the clothes HE had done and hung the load I did the proper way. My way. I noticed that there were still a few soapy-looking spots and decided that they weren’t HIS fault after all but caused by the new high-efficiency-low-water-usage washer that doesn’t have an agitator and spins the clothes practically dry but tightly wrinkled. Not good for the few of us left in the world who still hang their clothes outside. Still, it was a good day. The chickens were pecking in the yard, the laundry was blowing in the breeze, and all was right with the world. Bring it on, Dr. Phil.