I have a genetic defect.
Luckily it is not the horrible, life-wrecking kind. It is the simple, hidden kind that drives husbands nutty.

I was born without the laundry gene.

I cannot do laundry. No matter how many times people explain the correct way to do laundry to me, I still cannot do it right. Here are some of the results:

- I mix lights and darks, even though you aren’t supposed to. Physically and mentally, I cannot separate laundry.

- I overcompensate the detergent. I do not trust the recommended detergent dosage on the back of the detergent box/bottle. I never believe it will be enough. I usually double it, meaning I have to rinse twice or smell like Mountain Breeze everywhere I go. Doing this with powdered detergent is really bad - it can result in pancaked white clumps on your blackest pants.

- I cannot comprehend water temperature. So I just wash everything in hot.

- I cannot balance a load. Every time I do laundry, the spin cycle creates this loud banging as the washer starts traveling madly across the washroom.

- Folding. Don’t even ask me about folding. *shudder*

- Using hangers. I try, try, try to hang up my clothes the right way, but I can’t do it. I can’t hang things up in a row. My clothes hangers are crossed and wedged with each other, creating a plastic web of cotton and polyester that I cannot find anything in.

For all of these reasons, I have determined that I am missing the laundry gene. Never, never ask me to throw in a load for you. You will not be happy with the results.