April 15, 2011
It dawned on me while I was rolling up my fitted sheet and shoving it into a cramped and messy shelf, that my fellow readers might not know some of my best kept housekeeping secrets. And how should you know if they were indeed, best kept secrets? I don’t go around telling people best kept secrets, that would completely negate the best kept part, and it would furthermore undermine the secret part too, no?
So let’s pretend this isn’t a best kept secret at all, but merely a thing that I do every laundry day, that is only borne out of sheer boredom but also in attempts to shake things up a bit. Because seriously, I’ve been writing about poop a lot lately. I can write about poop until my fingers blister and bleed, but the problem is you’re so utterly sick of the notion of poop being mentioned in my blog again that you’ve promised yourself you weren’t going to check in with me until I got my mind out of the gutter, and on to more wholesome topics. Well hallelujah! This post is for you!
I was also thinking that I have been a housewife for about 5 years now, and while that’s not very long in regular years, it’s really long in dog years. And if a dog was a housewife people would be thinking, wooo–eeee, that dog sure is something special. But I’m not a dog, I’m a person. Although if I were a dog I think I’d be an Airedale. They have spectacular hair, a penchant for hunting, and a long tongue (three things that I do not posses), but they are total crap when it comes to folding fitted sheets, as I’m sure you are, which is why I have manifested this guide to instruct you, to hold your hand, and to keep you sane and healthy.*
- Step one: assess your sheet.
For me this looks like pulling it out of the dryer and smelling it to make sure that it is in fact clean. This would be a good time to check the elastic corners for any smaller items that may have tumbled along with your sheet in the dryer, i.e, hand towels, panties, leopard print hand cuffs, etc…
- Step two: lay your fitted sheet out on the floor.
It doesn’t matter if it’s a little folded over in some places, that just adds to the charm and charisma of your sheet.
- Step three: fold it in half.
- Step four: fold it in half.
- Step five: fold it in half.
- Keep folding until you get a tight little parcel that resembles this:
Martha Stweart would have you believe that you need to follow her guide to end up with a fitted sheet that looks like this:
But that’s just rediculous. Where is the charm and charaisma in that, I ask you?
If you are really pressed for time, and aren’t we all, you can try my short cut method:
- Take you fitted sheet out of the dryer, shake out, and roll until you get a fancy hand muff.
- Then remove your arm to expose a tiny fox hole with which to fill with whatever you please. I prefer Easter candies that my family would otherwise eat if I didn’t sneak them away in my hidden stash spots.
- Once your sheet is small enough, it’s ready to be crammed into your disheveled hall closet. I like to keep mine stocked with random afghans that my extended family like to give me.
Done and done.
* I cannot promise that following this guide will keep you sane and healthy. It might actually do the opposite. If it does, my deepest regrets, and if you email me your home address along with a coupon to Bed Bath and Beyond, I promise I’ll come visit you and possibly knit you a sweater to keep you warm while you are locked up in the frozen tundra of your inescapable mind. I say possibly because I’m not so good at knitting as it stands currently, but if you teach me (I’m a moderately slow/remedial learner, so you must be a patient and relentless instructor), I could learn, and therefore knit you a sweater.