I honestly can’t understand how I hate doing laundry so much. “Doing laundry” in 2013 just means dropping things into machines that do all the work and it’s still overwhelming to me.

When I was little, I wanted to be Pocahontas when I grew up. Can you imagine if I got my wish? Can you imagine if I was a Native American in 1608? I can’t even shuffle a basket of laundry from one place to the other. You expect me to grind my own corn? Are you kidding? I don’t have that level of commitment for breakfast when I’m trying to get somewhere. I’ve eaten a piece of floppy bread with melted cheese on top from microwaving it for 10 seconds on the way to work that I didn’t even have time to fully melt the cheese... more than once. Sandwich bread. White sandwich bread. With partially melted cheese.

No air conditioning. Or round brushes. Bedroom locks. Toilet paper. Internet. Pillows that are clearly labeled as extra soft, soft, firm, or extra firm. Raid insect spray. Off with as much DEET as legally possible. Sunglasses. Tweezers. Mr. Clean’s Magic Erasers.