Will you wash my clothes?

I'm a slave to dirty clothes. It seems I spend the majority of the week either washing clothes, pulling clothes out of the washer to dry (oh how I miss a tumble dryer) or folding clothes and putting them away. Dear God. It is only me and Barry here...I can't imagine when we have kids. I won't have time to eat for the laundry then!

Of course, I know the biggest part of the problem with the monstrous amount of laundry is my constant Zumba-ing. Because, well, I sweat like a whore in church when I'm teaching Zumba...and, I have about nine classes a week now...all of which require a change of clothes.

So, I'm sick of laundry. This week, instead of doing the laundry I said, "screw it." I was going to wait as long as possible before tackling the beast. And I did...I waited. I waited over a week before doing a load of laundry. Then, yesterday arrived and it had been one week and a day since I washed clothes. I was feeling quite proud of myself even though there was no room in the hamper for anymore articles of clothing...what was in there had already piled out of the side and onto the bathroom floor. But, I didn't care...I was proud...that was until I walked into the bathroom yesterday morning and noticed the hamper was missing. I looked around the bathroom confused. I knew I certainly didn't move it. I wandered around the apartment looking for the pile of stinky clothes and there it was...sitting in the kitchen in front of the washer (the washers are usually in the kitchens here for my American friends)! Gasp! "What the...?" I muttered.

Right on cue, Barry popped upstairs from the shop. He was whistling. "Um, is this your subtle way of telling me to do the laundry?" I ask in a sarcastic tone.

"Here we go...I knew this was goin' to turn in ti a whole handlin'." He returns the sarcasm.

"Well, it must be...you moved it from the bathroom to the kitchen." Of course, I know these clothes need to be washed...I know I've been a lazy laundry doer. And, since Barry doesn't really have time to do it working seven days a week I've usually just done it...but jeez...make it stop sometime, seriously.

"Naw! I was jist bein' nice. It was heavy and I didn't want ye ti have ti carry it up the stairs here." I believe him. "Believe me," he continues, "if ye wanna have a contest ti see who could go the longest without clean clothes I'm all fir it. I have more than enough to last me. I don't care if ye do a wash or not, sure."

And, I know he's right. I need my clean clothes so I can put them on to go and get all sweaty again, so I don't take him up on the contest. Instead, I washed clothes, dammit. And, Friday night...they are still being washed and dried.