To celebrate the upcoming release of my third novel, Driving in Neutral—a love story about claustrophobia—I am running the 75 Days of Phobia series. As Maxwell, the claustrophobic hero in Driving in Neutral asks, “What are you afraid of? What scares you?” Well, frankly, there is one rather simple thing that makes me wig out.
Loving aprons and being Domestically inclined, tending to the laundry is a skill where I excel. Naturally. There have been times when I was unable to complete my laundry, to see it through from sorting darks, whites, and colours, to choosing the correct cycle and water temperature, to removing the damp clothes from the machine to pin them to the clothesline.
Illness, a PhD (which, seeing as the sucker is done and I am now ‘Doctor Sandra,’ that excuse will not happen again.), cruddy weather, not being home, have all contributed to my laundry failure and to my conruptuslauandisuspendophobia as well. You see, it is these times that Dr Shrinkee has stepped in to take on the task of hanging the washing on the line.
There is a right way and a WRONG way to hang laundry on the clothesline. Yes. Yes. I may be a wee bit obsessive about how to hang clothes on a line, but really. REALLY!
My stomach turns when I come home to find that husband has done me a favour by putting the washing on the line — the WRONG WAY. I have to remind myself not to scream, or call him names, especially since his whole reason for looking after the task was an act of love. I have to hang on to that fact as I look at the pegged and twisted, jumbled up, half-inside out shirts I will have to iron, as I see the tee with the lovely peg right in the middle of the bust, the other tee simply thrown over the line, the socks that are still in a partial ball and pinned to the line by the toe, and the jeans that are crumpled and folded over by the waist and pegged with one pocket in and one pocket out. Conruptuslauandisuspendophobia
Why, yes. I am hyperventilating at the moment.