I would like to formally announce my resignation from folding fitted sheets.
This decision was not made lightly. I have spent years attempting to meet the expectations of the position. I have watched instructional videos. I have observed other people do it. I have been told, with suspicious confidence, that there is a perfectly reasonable method involving corners going inside other corners.
I don’t believe any of you!
A fitted sheet does not have corners. It has lies.
Every time I pull one out of the dryer, I begin with optimism. This time will be different. I am older now. Wiser. I have folded laundry before. I understand basic shapes. I locate something that looks like a corner, then find another thing that also looks like a corner. I bring them together, as instructed, and somehow the sheet gets bigger.
This is usually when things begin to fall apart.
The elastic twists. One end disappears. Something that looked like a corner thirty seconds ago turns out to be a completely unrelated piece of fabric. Eventually, I am holding what appears to be a very large cloth bag and wondering how this thing ever fit on a mattress.
At this point, my wife may enter the room.
This is dangerous.
She can fold a fitted sheet. I have seen her do it. She takes the same angry piece of fabric I have been wrestling with for ten minutes, performs some kind of linen witchcraft with her hands, and suddenly it’s a rectangle.
A rectangle.
She will occasionally try to explain what she’s doing. “You just put this corner into this corner. And then you fold this part over. See?”
No.
I do not see.
What I see is a woman who has apparently made some kind of agreement with the fitted sheets of the world. I don’t know what she offered them. I don’t know what they promised her in return. Frankly, I don’t want to be involved.
So I am stepping down.
Effective immediately, my official fitted-sheet folding technique will consist of grabbing the sheet with both hands, making it approximately smaller, and putting it somewhere. Will it be a rectangle? No. Will it stack neatly? Also no. Will it technically fit inside the linen closet?
With enough determination.
Some may call this giving up. I prefer to think of it as accepting reality. There are plenty of household tasks I am capable of performing. I can wash dishes. I can vacuum. I can do laundry. I can change bedding. I can even remove a fitted sheet from a mattress without once questioning the fundamental laws of the universe.
But folding one?
No.
Life is short. We only get so many hours on this earth, and I refuse to spend any more of mine trying to convince a giant elastic bag that it is a square.
My wife can fold the fitted sheets.
I will stand nearby and offer emotional support.
This arrangement is better for everyone.
The CJBuzz 