Writer. Warning: opinions. My lawyer advised a disclaimer, but didn't include any jokes to go with. Damned if I can think of any either.

My Clothes are Jerks

I have come to a realization about myself. I resent clothes for needing to be washed and folded.

I completely understand the washing part, as I myself need a good scrub-down once every month or so, but you don’t see me getting all cranky and wrinkly if I’m not pampered even further. Outside of applying some barbecue sauce to myself as a cologne (people love the smell of food), I pretty much step right out of the shower, towel myself off, throw on a pirate’s blouse and a pair of tight breeches, belt on my ceremonial scimitars, style my hair into an elaborate coif, leap into my velvet knee-high boots, arrange my eye patch and… hm — I guess there are more steps to being me than I realized.

Still, that doesn’t excuse clothes from being so high maintenance. Even as I type this there is a pile of clean laundry lurking in my home, slowly wrinkling itself to punish me for not folding it. What a pile of jerks!

Of course I realize I could pay someone to handle this issue for me, but I have had some bad experiences with that in the past. One cleaner’s I used previously apparently had someone on staff who despised buttons. Perhaps he’d just seen too many buttons in his life and turned sour on them forever, or maybe his uncle had once chocked to death on a button. Whatever his motivations, my shirts tended to come back with at least one button smashed to bits.

I know I wasn’t the only one with this issue because I once overheard another customer saying “Oh yeah, and fire the button smasher!”

I guess there’s not much to do about it except just fold the dumb clothes before they get any more wrinkly, but I don’t have to like it.

I know a few tee shirts are going to get scowled at, I can tell you that much.