All of this means that my laundry breeds in dark corners, and threatens to consume the entirety of my living space on any given day. Don't believe me? Take a look at this:
This is my laundry, a mere three days after returning from New Hampshire, where I washed all the clothes except what we were actually wearing, the day before we left. Actually, this isn't all my laundry, because it doesn't include sheets, towels and rags, or diapers. And that picture doesn't even show the true extent of it. Let me show you a different angle:
Yes, the pile is a basket, overflowing with I know not what. (It can't be clothes. Five people do not produce that many dirty clothes in three days anywhere short of, perhaps, a working cattle ranch. PW, I feel for you.) And the hamper? Well, that's overflowing, too.
Do you know that women used to beat their clothes with a very large stick, as part of the routine cleaning process? I've said before how grateful I am for my modern conveniences, but some tiny part of me thinks that may have felt just a wee bit satisfying. Just imagine, Ancient Woman, off to beat her laundry into submission. She didn't have to spend time at the gym keeping her arms toned, either.