Buried Alive in Laundry
How to keep your cool while losing your socks

By Hope Forrest

It never ceases to amaze me how much laundry four people are capable of generating. Growing up in a family of seven, I honestly do not remember ever finding my mother buried alive in the laundry room. Yet whenever I opened my drawers, I could always count on finding clean clothes. It was magic. My mother must have kept a laundry genie hidden in her jumbo-sized jug of fabric softener.

So, where do I find this genie? No matter how hard I try, it seems there is always laundry at various stages in every room of the house. Somehow my family is under the delusion that they need to sign a laundry union card before they can touch anything. (If this were true, I would have burnt my card a long time ago). Rather than cause any kind of labor dispute, they leave the mess where it lies.

First there is the full hamper in the master bedroom. It has a color-sorting-bag system that was to be the answer to all my laundry dreams. (I found it just holds more). The poignant smell that permeates has been known to curl hair permanently. (Feel free to call for an appointment!)

Downstairs there is a pile of miscellaneous mix-matched stuff waiting for the "right color" load. Most have been waiting since 1989.

Then there's the washing machine. Some people brew beer in their basements; I ferment a unique brand of fabric fragrance. The distinct scent on our apparel can only be known as "Eau de Drenched Dog!" There is no fancy equipment to buy. All you need is a washtub full of wet clothing. Cure for 72 hours, and then toss into a hot dryer. (Patent pending).

The dryer is not only full, but often spilling out onto the dusty basement floor since someone was in a rush and dug through the clothes to find the "right shirt".

Locked away in my closet is a pile of wrinkled clothes (POW'S). That's a whole story in itself.

Finally, there is the spare bed in the basement used for folding where you will always find an assortment of socks that have been eternally separated from their mates. Where do they go?

I hear scientists have managed to map the human gene. They believe they will uncover all kinds of unexplained human mysteries. Cool. Maybe they will find my missing socks.

Hope Forrest is the name of a fictional mother and the writer of the satirical column, "Mum's the Word". Trying to achieve Martha Stewart living in a Marge Simpson world, Hope sometimes suffers occasional mental breakdowns. Hope Forrest's rantings have been published weekly in the Strathmore Standard for over three years, and have been featured several times at www.parentinghumor.com, www.canadianparents.com, and Canadian Parents Magazine. Hope's alter-ego, Lori Bersaglio, enjoys speaking to groups of tired, weary mothers. Through love and laughter her goal is to leave them feeling encouraged and refreshed. Visit Hope at: www.hopeforrest.com