Some mom at my son's pre-preschool playtime class said that to me. I liked her instantly. The problem is, I've been defeated by my laundry. I haven't surrendered, not completely, yet, it comes close. They have infiltrated every room of the house, socks, shirts, even jeans occasionally, can be found everywhere. My novel is not yet written, because my jeans are not hung neatly in the closet. In fact, nothing is hung neatly in the closet except clothes my husband and I haven't worn in years. Chapter 8 has been halted, because my sons don't wear shoes in their playtime class, eliminating the simple solution of not matching socks when dressing them.
But there are even more horrific ramifications of laundry. Some of the greatest philosophical questions in the world will never be asked, because our next Socrates had to stop and sniff his underwear. The next Einstein, on the verge of questioning, and finding the answer to, the key of our evolution, will pause, just for a moment, looking at the socks on the floor, and the answer, gone. Replaced instead with something momentarily more imperative. Are they clean? Are they dirty? Which pile is the clean one? Is it okay to wear one clean sock and one of questionable orientation, or would it be better to wear two mismatched socks? When faced with the mornings first rays, an unknown doctor researching cures for the common cold will suddenly understand the role asparagus plays on the immune system, and reaching for the answer, smiling, will be thwarted, because his shirt, clearly in the clean pile, has a stain on it. What does this mean for the clothes underneath? Have they been mis-piled? These are the dangers we face when dealing with laundry, and yet, there is no solution. So evolotuion, the common cold, and the explanation of our very existence, of why we are here, along with my novel, remain left, unfinished, undone, unanswered. Still, we do not take laundry seriously. We chuckle and laugh, convinced somewhere there is a home with laundry neatly done, knowing deep in our hearts that is only a myth, for no human can defeat laundry.
I'm sure I could do great things, if it weren't for the laundry.