I came to a not-so-shocking revelation today that still somehow shocked me. Alright, “shocked” is a bit melodramatic of a word to use here, but halfway through folding my third load of laundry (with one more still under works), I had to stop and really question why on earth a singular person has so much laundry to do all the time. That same singular person who only leaves the house maybe once or twice a week, and wears pajama pants and leggings throughout most of her workday. How, I wondered, am I always drowning in laundry? Step foot into my bedroom basically any given day and you’ll see “the chair.” You know the one…the chair that always seems to have a pile of either clean clothes that still need to get put away, or “purgatory” clothes that are neither clean enough to put away nor dirty enough to throw in the hamper. Most of my weekdays are spent digging through that chair for something to throw on to either run out for an errand or appointment or layer up when it gets a bit too chilly. How does that one chair become four loads of laundry nearly every week? HOW?,...

Someone asked me this recently and I didn't know what to say at the moment. But I have plenty to say now.