As I pen this literary tribute to laundry, I find myself growing philosophical. For example, I begin to think deep thoughts such as, how, exactly, does ketchup find it's way into a child's jacket pocket? I don't even remember said child wearing said jacket while eating said ketchup. Generally speaking, ketchup, with the help of gravity, tends to drop on a child's front, where it is easily visible and removable. And there were no fries secreted in the pocket. Hmmm.
My eldest daughter pointed out today that laundry is like rabbits. It multiplies while you're not looking. We agreed that this must be the case. How you get seven loads of laundry from one overnight stay at a relative's house when you only packed four small suitcases is beyond me.
And we came to a second conclusion about laundry and rabbits. It's when they start hopping that you're really in trouble.