An essay on clean underwear and quilting

This morning, for the second time this week, I had to wait for a load of laundry to finish drying so I could change my underpants before I left for work. This sad truth is neither an unusual occurrence, or a record of how many times a week I’ve woken up without clean skivvies.

There are two reasons why I have such a hard time finding a clean pair of underwear. The first is Sophia, the pantie-eating cocker spaniel. I don’t know what it is about a dirty pair of underwear, but it just makes her mouth water. I also don’t know how she manages to get a hold of my underpants since, being a dog, Sophia does not have the opposable thumbs needed to open the door to the closet that houses the dirty clothes hamper.

On weeks with a high amount of casualties, I sometimes have to do laundry every day. At Target you can get four pairs of underpants that don’t make your ass look even more gigantic than it already is for $20. That translates to one yard of quilting fabric I can’t buy for every two pairs of underwear Sophia eats. I actually am more annoyed by this math truth than waiting for the dryer to buzz so I can leave the house.

But the second reason why I find it so difficult to keep my underwear drawer stocked, is that I quilt instead of doing laundry.

Last night I knew I was wearing the only clean pair of underpants in the house. I could have thrown a load of laundry in when I got home from work. But I quilted instead. It’s not even like doing a load of laundry would take that much time away from quilting. I could spend five minutes putting the load in the washer, quilt for 30 minutes, spend five more minutes transferring the load to the dryer and still have 60 more minutes of quilting before it’s time to fold clothes. I have an old dryer, it’s slow but it does the job. That’s 90 minutes I could spend quilting and doing laundry, but do I multitask? No.

The sad part of this tale is keeping up with the laundry isn’t the only domestic task that is neglected as a result of my quilt addiction. My husband does most of the dishes, at least half of the cooking and you can always find a clump of dog hair on the carpet.

I clean really well once a week, but then inspiration hits, a fabric bomb explodes on the dining room table and I’m back to square one. I sometimes wonder how other women keep their houses spotless, make dinner every night and always have clean underwear. Those women must not quilt.

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