I've heard that the visage of Mount Everest strikes the mortal soul with awe. It's exactly the same way people feel when they catch sight of my laundry room. The way the light cascades off the unending peaks of dirty socks is overwhelming. I often find myself at the doorway with tears in my eyes.
Actually, my ability to pack twelve tons of laundry into a small poorly lit room is a source of pride for me. However, it's my ability to ignore it that really impresses my friends.
Sissy, my lovely neighbor, has the unfortunate floor plan + neighborhood full of women without boundaries-- which means people walk into her laundry room all the time. Yikes! Nobody would like this situation unless they were....Sissy. And while she also has her cat's litter box in there, I swear that you could eat off of the floors (does mine have a floor?).
Sissy freely admits she has a problem....we should all be that lucky. Her laundry room is bright, even sunny. It smells GREAT --what cat? It's absolutely lovely (yes, even decorated). I have been in and out of that room thousands of times and have never once spotted a dirty sock. In the war on housework Sissy is a hero. An unapologetic neat freak, she disciplines herself every day to keep that space clean, neat and organized.
How does that happen to a person? Are you born a laundry goddess.? Do you pay a price for that in other areas of your life? I will never know.
My children have become mountaineers in an effort to find specific clothes so that I can do one load for the next day (or for later that day). Lately, they've stopped looking in their drawers to find stuff to wear, instead rummaging through the laundry baskets that line my closet with the great unfolded mass of clothes.
The moral of this story is that while there are Sissies out there, if you're able to see the floor of your laundry room (closet, basement) you are doing better than someone....me.