The laundry is full of our clothes. Some are small, some are large, some display a lack of fashion sense, some are sexy, some are sloppy, while others should be thrown in the bin.
We wear these clothes upon our skin because we are trapped within our monetary constraints, the temptation to buy designer labels does not appeal to our sensibilities, and the thought of shopping sends a feeling of dread down our spines.
Sometimes I wonder about these crumpled clothes that pile up upon the laundry floor. Why do they keep piling up so high? Will I die with a basket of unwashed clothing in my house with pictures of cats on my knickers? Will I be remembered as the person with bad fashion sense and a taste for kinky underwear? Is Jesus even real?
So many thoughts move through my head, as I contemplate all of these important ideas about washing, and clothing, and life, and all of that stuff that occupies no place in a normal person’s mind.
The laundry is like my life – crumpled clothes keep filling up the washing basket of my life to clutter my day, make me question so many things, and give one a sense of pessimistic dread at the thought of leaving connubial constraints laid bare for the world to see when I die.
