Why I Won't Be Doing My Family's Laundry Any More

Not long ago, I informed my family that I would no longer be doing their laundry.

No, this is not one of those Lifetime Movie of the Week things about a disgruntled housewife who goes on strike against her ungrateful family. In fact, I don’t really mind being my family’s Head Washerwoman. It’s fairly easy and has immediate results—my kind of chore.

Nope, nope, nope.

However, I won’t be doing it any more.

You see, our washer and dryer are in the garage. The garage is attached to the house, but to get there you have to walk out of the house and about 10 feet through the backyard to the back door of the garage.

No problem, right?

Well, actually, there have always been two major problems with this set-up: Son 1 and Son 2. During the day, I have to leave them briefly unattended in the house if I want to do laundry. Thanks to Murphy’s Laws of Parenting, I know that even if I am gone for literally ONE FREAKIN’ MINUTE, that will be the time that they either try to fight each other to the death or that one of them will attempt to fly from the couch to the coffee table with disastrous results.

So let’s just say I have learned from experience that daytime laundry isn’t worth it.

That leaves laundry for the evening, after my rambunctious darlings have gone to bed. Until recently, this was no problem. I’d throw clothes in the washer, then settle down to watch The Bachelorette, er, PBS.

But then I realized that my backyard at night is a scary and dangerous place.

And so I can’t go out there after dark. Ever. Again.

I learned this a couple of weeks ago when I blithely headed out to do laundry. I heard a noise at the back of my (fairly small) yard, so I peered through the semi-darkness and saw a shape on the brick wall back there. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw it was a HUGE raccoon—like, the size of a golden retriever, at least. (MAYBE a large German Shepherd, even. He was big. BIG.) Anyway, he looked at me, arched his back, and let out a hiss that said, roughly translated, “I will eat you alive and then poop you out all over your laundry if you so much as look at me again.”

So that was the end of laundry for THAT night.

Contemporary legend? Or TOTALLY REAL??

The next night I stayed up late writing. At about midnight, a round of horrible screeching and screaming erupted right outside our front door. It sounded at first like cats, but as it went on it became clear that it was something else. I peeked out the door, but I couldn’t find the source. Eventually, the screaming evolved into enraged chattering that went on for over an hour.  I knew there was just one thing that could be making such a noise: a chupacabra.

OK, yes, I realize that a more rational answer would have been “a raccoon.” I had just seen one in the neighborhood, after all. But it was past midnight, dark and quiet, and my thoughts turned naturally toward this less-likely probability. As the chattering continued into its second hour, I became more concerned. I called animal control.

NO, I did not tell the nice lady who answered that there was a chupacabra outside my house. I may BE crazy, but I don’t like to APPEAR to be crazy. I explained the noise to her and she said, surprisingly, “Sounds like a raccoon to me.”

Ummmm…sure.

“Well,” I said, going with this absurd raccoon theory, “could it be injured? It’s making a lot of noise.”

“Is it in the street? Did it get hit by a car?” she asked.

The face of evil

“No,” I replied. “It’s definitely in a tree.”           

“Then it’s not injured,” she said. “Raccoons don’t get injured. They’re way too aggressive. They win every fight they’re in.”

STOP.

WHAT?

“Raccoons don’t get injured??? Like, ever???” I asked.

“Nope!” she answered cheerfully, before informing me that there was nothing she could do about the devil menacing my neighborhood.

This news about raccoons bothered me. I mean, I knew raccoons were mean garbage-eaters, but now I learn that they are actually INVINCIBLE, evil baby-killers? (<--That part is just me extrapolating from the information I have. Seems reasonable.) Nope. Never leaving the house after dark again.

I woke up my husband to inform him of this turn of events re: his dirty clothes, but I didn’t have to say much because just at that moment the raccoon/chupacabra ran screaming right under our bedroom window and over the fence into our backyard. Where it went from there, I don’t know, because I haven’t been out there since.

OK, that’s not wholly true. I did get desperate for clean clothes last night, so I snuck to the garage with my super-beam, heavy duty, could-beat-a-raccoon-off-of-me-if-not-actually-injure-it flashlight. Out of curiosity, I flashed it around the backyard to see what was out. No raccoons. No chupacabras. But the light did shine momentarily on what turned out to be a spider web in a corner. I went to check it out and what did I find? Not much. Nothing, in fact, except for A BIG BLACK WIDOW SPIDER conveniently hanging belly-side-up as if to say, “That’s right! Check out my red hourglass! Just like you’ve seen on Google late at night when you should be sleeping or doing laundry!” If spiders had fingers, this one would have been flipping me off.

Oh, look! A spider! I'll just go check it--aaaaarrrgggghh!

Well, half a can of Raid Flea and Tick Spray (it’s all we had) followed by a phone book squish-and-smear (you know what I mean), and I had taken care of that cheeky spider. But not before it screamed out in spiderese to all its friends and family about what I was doing. (<--Again, extrapolating.) So I think it’s fair to expect that they will all be out and coming to exact revenge on me each night at sunset, along with the super-raccoons.

Which is why I won’t be doing laundry ever again.

photo credit: nal from miami via photo pin cc photo credit: fingle via photo pin cc photo credit: EJP Photo via photo pin cc