Folding a Fitted Sheet

Fighting With the Laundry

Folding a Fitted Sheet
Fighting With the Laundry

I’ve come to a decision. Folding a fitted sheet is NOT doing laundry. It’s like stand up comedy, but this comic gets booed and falls off the stage.

Frustrated, I even watched a YouTube tutorial. There was a lady named Sunflower in a prissy white room. She said, “It’s so simple! Just tuck the gussets!”

First of all, gusset is a disgusting word. Second, Ms. Sunflower made it look like she was doing origami, (but I knew it was really evil sorcery).

I tried to follow along, honest. Like Sunflower, I stuck my fingers in the corners like some giant puppet. But standing in my living room, arms spread wide, I must have looked like I was trying to land a plane or call up a demon.

The tutorial said, “Okay now, just flip corner A into corner B ...” Except my sheet didn’t have corners, only rounded hints of an A and B. When I “flipped” one side, the other side collapsed. It was like trying to fold a stretchy jellyfish.

After ten minutes, my arms cramped up. I lost the “gusset”, (whatever that was), and I was left standing there, holding a fabric ghost. I couldn’t lay it flat, because it curled up like a dead spider and I was sure it hated me.

Finally, I reached an ‘acceptance phase’ where I stopped trying to be Sunflower and started being ME again. I took the whole damn mess, rolled it into a tight angry ball, and shoved it into the back of the linen closet.

When I closed the door, I swear I heard it untangle itself in there. I’m convinced, three weeks from now if I open the door to get something, that sheet will jump out and scare me like a spring-loaded snake from one of those funny gag cans.

I think folding a fitted sheet is God’s way of reminding me I’m not really in control of anything. It’s like being a grownup. I really don’t know how to do that either. I just somehow make it work …