Squawk Radio

So yesterday, I had a laundry meltdown. I had washed some sheets, folded them the way I normally do, which is flat sheet nice and square, fitted sheet wrapped around my arm and stuffed into a closet.

But when I went to put the sheets away, I opened the linen closet and the whole thing exploded on me. That is because I can't fold a fitted sheet to save my life, and they all came tumbling out, sprawling all over the tile floors that were, unfortunately, covered in dog hair.

I can' figure fitted sheets out! I have tried everything, and it never works, it always comes up in one big gigantic ball. It wouldn't be such a thorn in my side if I didn't have two older sisters who fold their fitted sheets perfectly and arrange them in neat, color-coordinated columns in their linen closets. You can't tell the flat from the fitted.

I am very disturbed by it because I am not a slob. I like a nice, neat house just like anyone. Granted, I prefer to have a housekeeper make it nice and neat, but when push comes to shove, I can get in there and tidy up with the best of them. I just can't fold fitted sheets! I am convinced there was a class I missed growing up, how to fold fitted sheets 101. I actually told my mom she never taught me how to fold a fitted sheet, and she got that look on her face--you know, one eyebrow arched high, her lips pursed, and she said, in a superior voice, "You mean, you wouldn't learn. Just like you wouldn't learn to cook. Or do the dishes. Or--"

"I get the picture," I said. But please, my memory is so completely different. My mom is just getting old and she doesn't remember that while my three siblings sat in the den watching the Brady Bunch and eating potato chips all over my freshly vacuumed floor, I was in the rest of the house, toiling to make THEIR beds, vacuum THEIR floors, carry out THEIR trash and feed THEIR dogs. My memory is that I was the middle child slave to the family, Mom!

But anyway, I digress. I asked her to show me how to fold a fitted sheet, and she got all exasperated and said, "How old are you?" Which I thought was beside the point, but I told her, and she said, "Fine. Pay attention this time." And she proceeded to fold it up in about two nano seconds. Something about pockets over pockets.

Well I tried yesterday to refold all those damn sheets pocket over pocket, and ended up wrapping most of them around my arm and shoving them deeper into the linen closet. Fitted sheets, the bane of my existence. Ranks right up there with the curse of dog hair, which I battle on a daily basis.

What's the household bane of your existence? What chore do you hate more than the smell of liver and onions? How bad is the dog hair in your house? Could you knit a sweater out of it? Stuff a pillow? Are your fitted sheets neatly folded?