I rather like Saturdays. Oddly, this is no longer because I can lie in and sleep away the late night hangover from the Friday before. Instead, I now rather enjoy getting up at a reasonable time and playing the game of getting my chores done before noon so I can have the rest of the weekend free to do hobbies such as blogging, walking and photography. How sad is that? If you’d asked me to imagine this possibility 15 years ago I would have considered it for about a second before rolling around on the floor laughing.

Folding laundry…

I don’t enjoy folding laundry. Who would? But I have taught myself not to stress over having to do it and instead I stick something enjoyable on the TV that doesn’t require my full visual attention (repeats of Friends is perfect), drag the coffee table in front of me, stick the clean laundry basket to my left, make a cup of tea, then slowly work my way through the pile until it’s done. There are worse ways to spend a Saturday morning.

It always amazes me how many pants and socks my men get through in a week. They must have at least three bums and twelve feet each! I love them. I really do. And because I love them I am willing to touch their used underpants and socks in order to shove them unceremoniously into the washing machine each week. There are however limits! And over the years I’ve made a rule that if a sock comes out of the wash still screwed up in a little ball it is not my job to unball it… Ick! I used to. So I know what it’s like to pull a tight ball of man sock apart and have sandy, fetid foot dust dumped onto my lap. So, sometime in the middle of last year I declared; ‘never again’! And balled up socks now get placed on the relevant pile of otherwise freshly folded laundry, to be deballed by their offending owners.

…reaps reward…

Then comes the joyous moment when I call upon them to pick up their clean laundry and point out that their piles are, as usual, twice as high as mine. ‘Why do you all wear so many clothes?’ and ‘If you had to wash them, you would find a way not to have to wear three pairs of socks every day!’. It’s a very enjoyable moment from a woman’s perspective and I revel in it. Only once have they ever dared to point out that my clothes tend to need dry cleaning. It is a simple right, I’m sure you’ll agree, that she who does the laundry gets to rag those that create the laundry a minimal amount in return! I have taught them well. They grovel and sing my praises almost as a Pavlovian response to seeing a pile of folded clothes.

…and more reward!

In addition to my right to rag, another way I get through the laundry job is by arranging some ‘me time’ upon completion. Currently this is an undisturbed half an hour in front of the sitcom ‘New Girl‘ (It’s ‘Jess!!’; love it ) recorded on Sky Plus, and my version of a ‘heathy’ cream tea: a fresh cup of tea (of course) and crumpets slathered in low-fat Philadelphia and good quality jam. Usually this is raspberry but we’d run out this morning so I had to put up with blueberry which turned out to be rather nice. Now, this may not seem like a massive reward but after a morning sorting and folding a million pairs of socks and pants its sheer heaven!

Simple pleasures.

Of course the only reason I have chosen to use Saturday mornings as a time to fold laundry is to give myself a good excuse not to have to do anything crazy like go to the gym – which is how my wonderful OH spends his time – the smug git!

Here’s to Saturdays!

No one has compensated me in any way for writing this post or to saying particular things in it. On the other hand, I remain open to offers!