Laundry, ugh, I break out in hives just thinking about the epic shit storm that this chore consists of.

But we mustn’t look like a bunch of hobos so laundry is a necessary evil. Unless you’re a husband. Then, you just drop socks and underwear all over the effing place and they magically appear all clean and folded in your drawer.

So how does one do the laundry? It’s a very complicated 11-ish step process, at least in my homestead. Gather ’round, folks, and witness the lazy housewife’s plight:

This is an example of what I don’t look like on laundry day

Step 1: After you hop out of the shower and discover that you are out of clean underwear, the adventure begins. Commando. First, you have to go on a little scavenger hunt for all of the dirty clothes left strewn about, because mighty Zeus, father of Thor help us all if I find a stray article of clothing once I’ve already started that washing machine. Look in the bathroom, the mud room, on the coffee table, next to the bed, and literally five inches away from the hamper. These are all the places people who don’t have to do laundry LOVE to leave dirty clothes. Shitting socks and underwear just everywhere.

Step 2: Mash a giant pile of gross together, do that thigh-smacking thing sumo wrestlers do, squat down, and hug the pile. Get your mouth right next to the butthole of your husband’s boxers. Now, stand up, bend back down to grab the sock that just fell out, stand up, bend back down to grab the underwear, sock, and shirt that fell out, and you’re good.

Step 3: Make your way to the washing machine looking like a boulder of laundry with legs. Each time an article of clothing falls, I want you to sigh heavily, and roll your eyes as you pick it up. Repeat 16 times. At least.

Step 4: You’ve made it to the laundry room. But alas, the door to the laundry room is shut and your hands are literally full of sweaty swamp ass. Pin the pile of clothes against you and the door while contorting your body so that one of your hands is able to jiggle the doorknob enough to open the door. Fall face first into the laundry room in an avalanche of clothing containing bodily fluids that do not belong to you.

Step 5: Mutter every curse word you have ever learned under your breath, clench your fists, close your eyes, and seriously contemplate throwing away everyone’s clothes and going on a shopping spree. New clothes = clean clothes.

Step 6: Aggressively throw each article of clothing into the washing machine. Yeah, that feels nice, doesn’t it? Stuff that fucker full.

Step 7: Put the detergent in, and press that start button that is oh, so satisfying. Walk away with the swagger of Beyonce because you did some adult shit today.

Step 8: Note the pleasant tune of your washing machine notifying you that the cycle is complete. Make a mental note to transfer clothing into the dryer next time you need to go to that part of the house. Get sidetracked. Possibly for a couple of days.

Step 9: The lukewarm terror that is the realization that you’ve left the laundry in the washing machine crawls up your center. Shit. Start the washing machine again and pray it doesn’t smell like mildew still after it’s done.

Step 10: Transfer the clothing into the dryer once it’s finished because you’re on top of thangs today.

Step 11: Grab items out of the dryer, as needed, until the dryer is empty. Now it’s time to start all over in the hellish repeat nightmare that is your life.

Is this pretty much how your laundry day(s) go, or nah?