#995 - Forgetting tissues in your pockets during laundry

I like laundry.  I know many loathe having to spend a couple of hours every weekend to sort through their whites and colours, sit around and wait for a couple of hours and then engage in the terrifying task of sorting and folding begins (God help you if you have a large family.)  But for me, I find laundry to be nice downtime in which I can destress by catching up on some missed shows, read a book or perhaps pop open a bottle of wine, unless this happens...  Plus, one of my favourite smells in the world is Tide laundry detergent, which is amplified by the warmth of being fresh out of the dryer.  Mmmm...it's a strange smell obsession, but who are you to judge?

I'm pretty thorough when it comes to laundry.  Chalk it up to my obsessive compulsive nature, but I have one bin for whites and one for my colours.  I always double check the lint trap and make sure to do a pocket squeeze check to make sure nothing of importance is left to die in the frigid cold water wash cycle.  (Sidenote: reduce your energy costs by washing in cold water.)

However, there's always the one or two items that you've missed which results in some hand smacks to your forehead.  No item is worse than the dreaded tissue (used or unused, they both suck balls.)  They elude your squeeze test, they stay buried as a damp clump during the wash cycle but then unleash their full fury during the dryer phase.  Operation Fuck Up Your Clothes is soon complete.

The minute you open the dryer door, your jaw drops in reaction to the utter madness of it all.  Some small wisps of paper tissue escape the dryer and fly aimlessly through the air as if they were taunting you for your stupidity.  The rest of their colleagues stubbornly cling onto the entire load of dark clothing that you've been eagerly waiting for.  You close your eyes and think - fuck, if only I had stuck my hand into that damn jeans pocket, that one second invested would have saved me this frustration.

You're stuck with either doing the laundry again and hoping the white bits would wash away, or using a roller to go through all of your clothes and manually picking out the really stubborn asshole tissue pieces that refuse to vacate.  Regardless, you won't get rid of all of them.  They'll be with you for at least another couple of washes, and each time a friend or work colleague picks one off of your sweater, you'll be reminded of your failure at life that particular Sunday laundry-filled afternoon.

DEEP SIGH.