Pockets
There was a time when I loved folding. I found it soothing and reassuring.
Not anymore. And I blame these.
99% of Bert’s pants and shorts have them. Cargo pockets.
And the all wrinkle up like this.
Taking time to force them back into the proper position is not the worst part. The worst part is the folding them. You can not fold cargos perfectly in half. The giant pockets make it impossible.
Just knowing that pants and shorts are not folded perfectly in half makes me anxious. Like too pink beef. I get the willies just thinking about it.
Thankfully, there is a counter weight in the laundry. Sweatshirts with hoods.
I love making pockets out of them.
They look so cozy and perfect.
And if the cats or a wayward Giants fan (for the night because this house hates San Francisco as much as it hates U(sic)GA) knocks over the pile, the sweatshirts stay folded.
You can’t buy that kind of peace of mind.
Remus remained up impressed with the sweatshirt pockets because I had to evict him from the top of the clean clothes pile. It’s he favorite place to nap. Probably because it’s the only place without cat hair yet.
Romulus just wanted treats.
Before you start feeling sorry for Remus, as I know you are apt, he found another place for snoozin’. That’s my raincoat that he dragged off the closet door knob and made a nest in it next to my shoes.
If there was ever any doubt that Remus was my cat, let that be put to rest now.
