Surprisingly therapeutic stuff


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CONFESSION. I do not do my own laundry. But I’ve been staying at home these couple of days and only recently realized how it truly is one of God’s simple gifts to man. There is something so therapeutic about washing dirty clothes and being intoxicated by the fumes of expensive and pungent detergents. For an even higher level of stress relief, I suggest doing it the Korean drama way (stamping it with your bare feet while some hunk holds you to keep your balance as you look into his eyes and say that you wanna have babies with him, a boy and a girl, who will eventually get separated for some reason and years later, unite and fall in love with each other only to find out that they’re siblings with one of them losing their memory at some point in time… etc). I also feel inexplicably happy watching the bed sheets dry under the sunlight and then later re-using the water rich with detergent residue to water my Dad’s plants, hopeful that the high chemical content will somehow help to grow some teenage mutant ninja cactuses from the pot.

So in other words, I love laundry. I know that if I am forced to do it on a regular basis, I might be inclined to mince those words, but it’s a relative inexpensive way to de-stress (and it sure beats sitting in some hip cafe eating messy food that passes off as brunch where its totally too crowded and noisy to hold a decent conversation anyway..). But I’ll like to make it clear that I absolutely abhor ironing; if laundry is God’s gift then ironing is satan’s punishment.

Now, I can’t wait for those bedsheets to dry…

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