I am the world’s biggest laundry slob. Really. As I write this there is a pile of clean laundry on the floor (hip-height) just outside the hamper that has been screaming for my attentions. I have a terrible habit not folding. And of leaving wet laundry in the machine until dries to a smelly wad, requiring a second run at it with extra softener. Once I had to do the same load three times over a period of 12 days due to my drying indifference. I just hate laundry and speed through it with reckless abandon.

Last night was no exception.

I decided that since I was moving in three weeks I was going to wash the sheets that were on the bed and use them until I move while using the rest of my pantry as packing material. Before your brain fills in the gap: yes. I did sleep in a stripped bed of naked mattress, bare pillows and cover-less duvet last night, thank you. But that’s not the scary part. Sometimes I feel sorry for the clean stuff and I haul the whole thing up onto my bed as an act of kindness to my clothes. Picture it: I am stripping the bed while shifting my clothes to one side then the next then giving up and shoving the entire mountain back onto the floor. On to the laundry room. As I am stuffing pillowcases, underwear and chinos into the washer, I brush a crumpled bedsheet up against the side of the machine with a klunk.

Klunk? My sheets aren’t that bad…

I narrowly escaped washing my iPod and my bedroom TV remote.

Imagine the call to Apple over that one: “Sorry sir, Applecare doesn’t cover Downy corruption.”