The laundry is full of our clothes. Some clothes are small, and others are large; some display a lack of fashion sense, others are sexy, some are sloppy, and some do not function.
We wear these clothes because of 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 piling up on 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?
Does Jesus exist?
So many thoughts move through my head, contemplating important ideas about washing, clothing, life, and all that stuff that occupies no place in other minds.
The laundry is like my life: crumpled clothes keep filling up the washing basket of my life to clutter my day, making me question so much and giving me a sense of pessimistic dread at the thought of leaving connubial constraints laid bare for the world to see when I die.