I opened the washing machine prepared to face the part of the process that is the very reason I avoid doing laundry; the post-wash sort.
The pre-sort really was relatively painless. A not so carefully toss of dirty clothes into their appropriate piles. But the post-sort... ugh.
The post-wash unload wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for hang drying. If only I could pull the damp clothes out in one armload and swoop them all into the dryer. But no, nothing that simple. The dreaded shrinking effect could not be helped. And so I sorted.
I reached into the dark metal hole that is my washing machine and picked out the mint green tank top first. Hmmm... odd. It didn't seem quite as minty as it normally did. I brushed the thought from my mind. Just darkened by dampness. Hang dry.
Next, the gray v-neck. Wait, was that shirt pinker than normal? Absurd. Just my eyes playing tricks. Dryer.
Oh. no. There they were. Wet and stuck to the side of the machine. My favorite pair of denim cut-offs. There was no denying it. They were pink.
The dread set in. I knew that something terrible had happened. I began the frantic search though the remainder of the wet clothes. As though at this point the inevitable could be stopped.
Then I saw them. The culprit. One of my all time favorite pairs of pants. High-waisted, long, flared, perfect, bright orange jeans.
The sheer stupidity of my mistake hit me like a wave of nausea.
Now I have two reasons to hate doing laundry.