The Table

My problem is not doing laundry, but folding it and putting it away. I'm regularly running down to the basement to grab a shirt or shorts or towel from The Table, an ordinary card table buckling under the weight of all those clean jumbled things. Dave will say, "If you have time, you know, sometime today, there's a load of towels on The Table," and I'll cut him off with, "I know! I know! I know!" Dave is a man who does his own laundry, washes more dishes than I do, and generally cleans more, so he's allowed to drop hints or suggestions about The Table and its contents. And I ignore them. I do like drawers full of easy-to-find clothes, but being a creative person, I guess I don't see the point of folding and transferring them when I could be doing one of a million more interesting things. My hand reaches toward The Table and stops- really. And I think about grinding some Guatemalan coffee beans or checking out Ben's ant farm or writing a poem. I've also never heard the laundry complain. I imagine all the clothes happily snuggling together like a pile of cats. And I get exercise every time I need a shirt. Plus, once in a while, I like to think I'm so busy having a Meaningful Life that taming the laundry is maybe even beneath me. So...is this a problem? Or is The Table actually a solution, somewhere to go when I need confirmation that Life is full and wonderful and so many mundane things can wait? That may be the real reason I leave it the way it is- because I know! I know! I know!