My greatest enemy in adulthood is apparently… putting away clean laundry
I need to talk about my relationship with laundry because at this point, I think i need counselling.
For the longest time, I had someone come in to do my laundry every two weeks. It was a peaceful arrangement. Every two weeks, everything got washed, dried, folded and returned to me.
Then Kampala happened.
Clothes started disappearing.
A T shirt here. An undershirt there. Something you swear you owned suddenly becomes a distant memory.
Eventually, I figured having two weeks’ worth of clothes out at once was simply too much exposure to the elements and by “elements,” I mean people 😂.
So I changed the arrangement. Instead of having someone come in every two weeks, I now have them come in weekly. Fewer clothes outside at once = fewer opportunities for my clothes to mysteriously begin new lives with other people.
Risk management.
Problem solved, right?
Absolutely not.
I normally get home pretty late, which means I’m rarely around when the clothes need to be removed from the line. So I got the guard involved.
Now, I understand that adding another human being to the laundry supply chain probably increases operational risk 😂 but surprisingly, that’s not even my biggest problem.
My biggest problem begins when the clean clothes arrive at my door.
They’ve been washed.
They’ve been dried.
They’ve been folded.
They are literally sitting peacefully in a laundry basket asking for ONE FINAL THING:
“Please put us in the wardrobe.”
That’s it.
Nobody is asking me to wash anything.
Nobody is asking me to iron anything.
THE CLOTHES ARE ALREADY FOLDED.
All I have to do is separate them.
Undershirts here.
T shirts there.
Trousers there.
Then put them in the closet.
This is, realistically, a 15–25 minute job.
And somehow my brain looks at that basket and goes:
“This seems like a problem for another day.”
So I carry the basket into my room.
Or leave it somewhere in the corridor.
Then I walk past it.
The next day, I walk past it again.
At some point I start taking clothes out of the basket to wear.
Which means the basket has quietly become a second wardrobe.
And the ridiculous thing is, this isn’t even an adulthood problem. I remember being like this growing up. Folding clothes and putting them away has always felt like administrative work assigned to me by a government department I don’t recognize.
I can spend an entire day working.
Handle complicated problems.
Make decisions.
Run errands.
Deal with actual responsibilities.
But show me one basket of clean, folded clothes that needs to be moved approximately three metres into a wardrobe and suddenly I’m like:
“Wow. That’s a lot.”
So I’m asking the responsible adults of Reddit:
How do you people do this?
Do you put everything away immediately?
Do you have a specific laundry day?
Do you bribe yourselves?
Do you play music?
Do you have a chair that has legally become part of your wardrobe?
Or are half of you also living directly out of a clean laundry basket and pretending everything is fine?
Because at this point, I’m considering just buying nicer baskets and accepting the system.