The False Recovery of Doing Laundry

The Street Hustle

A quick thought, this Friday afternoon on the subject of laundry.

I do my own laundry.  Being the oldest son of the commercial washer and dryer king of southeastern lower Michigan, I do not do what most single soon to be 40 New Yorkers do with their dirty clothes, send them out to be cleaned.  I still have that streak of guilt that says because I grew up in the laundry business, I should be doing my own laundry.

So as I sit here, folding my shirts and jeans, rolling up my unmentionables and socks, my mind begins to wander.  Today, I ponder the topic of existentialism and I postulate this to you, my dear readers: is doing your own laundry the ultimate existential experience? 

Could it be that folding shirts drove Kierkegard to a false recovery?  Was it folding underwear that drove Camus to feel like Sisyphus?  As I look at all of my black socks, I wonder.


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