Laundry

Can’t love it, can’t loathe it, not even a bit.

As a matter of course, just do it

When your three-year-old toddler wants to be helpful too

So your fresh pile of ironing gets shoved down the loo

While you refill the washer, don’t turn the air blue

Just do it

When you peg out that load, while rubbin’ your back

And the washing line snaps with a ruddy great crack

And you’re hit in the face by a flapping t-shirt

And it all comes to rest in the mud and the dirt

And your kid claps his hands shouting, ‘Do it again.’

Take a deep breath, count to ten, then pick up the lot,

Just do it

When your best knickers gets nicked by next door’s mutt

And your neighbour returns them—smile sweetly, don’t tut

And your worst one’s end up on your toddler’s head

While he runs down the street yelling ‘No want bed.’

And the sight of that gussett turns you bright red

Don’t run home, curl up, and wish you were dead,

Grab toddler, and knickers—dead nifty instead

And walk back tall—you can do it

When the washer conks out and floods the kitchen

No point wailing, no point bitchin’

And the tumble dryer bursts into flames

No point kickin’ it and callin’ it names

And the repair guy says he can’t come till next week

Don’t threaten his man parts with somethin’ bleak

But remember the laundrette down Milner Way

And next door the Chinese takeaway

Don’t be feeling guilty at splurging a bit

You’ve earned a break

Just do it