For the most part being forgetful is frustrating and potentially awkward.
Some such times:
-when writing an exam
-when telling people your children’s names
-when at the grocery store trying to remember ingredients necessary for dinner
The same is true of being a procrastinator.
Some such times:
-when cramming madly for the afternoon’s exam
-when realizing you are in labour and have yet to settle on baby names
-when at the grocery store at the last minute buying ingredients for dinner
However, there are times when I love both my forgetful and procrastinating natures.
Laundry is that time.
I seem to have accumulated a lot of clothes, especially tops, that are of a cold-water-wash, hang-to-dry, delicate-cycle nature. All of these requirements mean they come after things like sheets, towels, baby clothes, bibs, dishcloths, socks and underwear in the grand scheme of that-which-I-shall-deem-worthy-of-washing-this-week.
Also, hanging up all those wet, freezing cold clothes is icky.
Since most of these clothes are mine the complaint department static is minimal, further contributing to procrastination. (On the rare occasion the other people ’round here speak up re: laundry turnover speed, their clothes get thrown in the next load regardless of colour, water temperature and shrinkage concerns, putting a rather quick kibosh on future dissent).
So. By the time I DO get around to this special, separate basket of laundry tucked in the neglected corner of my bedroom under a spare kitchen chair, it is an event where that forgetfulness and procrastination pay off. By the time I do this laundry I am spending every morning staring into my closet thinking that common thought: “I have NOTHING to wear.”
After about a week of this moping I do my laundry.
Every time, I am amazed at the things that come out of that seemingly small basket. For instance, I bought four new shirts and some new capris this month since last summer all I wore was maternity shirts and the summer before that I have no idea what I was wearing. Presumably something, but nothing that fits these days. I wore them all then put them in this hidden basket. As you can imagine, having worn them only once, possibly even for only half a day depending on the timing of Kristoph’s launched leftovers, these clothes barely had a chance to register in my mind.
Doing my cold-water, delicate-cycle laundry is like going shopping and filling my closet with ALL NEW THINGS, without having to take my teeth to any tags.
Tomorrow the cycle begins again. I am looking forward to a fashionable few weeks, followed by a less fashionable few weeks, followed by this fabulous fake-shopping experience all over again.
In other clothing news, when the pickings were slim look what I pulled out:
The train made housework a bit challenging, and it was just a reminder of the ironing I needed to do so it went back to its box home, but hey, it fits! And Gemma asked me if I was a princess and alternated between staring at me and hugging me which made it all worth the severely sucked-in breath.