Crouching T-shirts, Hidden Socks

Laundry is trying to kill me.

What else can I think?

I am very vigilant about laundry. Some might even venture to say anal, if they like to be smacked upside the head. Every Saturday morning, I militantly march through the house, collecting clothes from hampers and towels from bathrooms. I leave no couch pillow unturned in my efforts. I even look underneath the couch for random socks. Every single bit of dirty clothing ends up in various piles on the floor in the laundry room. All of it is washed meticulously in the correct temperature, then thrown into the dryer or hung up to air dry. Each sock is paired with a mate, and even the washcloths are folded. All clean clothes are placed into assigned baskets, depending on their ultimate resting place, and all items are returned to closets, drawers, and towel racks. Where they are supposed to belong.

Yet after the last tiny pair of Marvel Superhero underpants(not mine, thank you!) have been folded and put away, I'll turn around...

...to find an extra-large Green Lantern t-shirt stalking me from atop the bookshelf.

Coming downstairs bleary-eyed in the morning, I find...

...a mine field of tiny socks, man-sized shirts, and jeans, large and small, strewn in my path. Where do they come from? I don't even recognize some of these items!

The other day I found a tube sock stretched across the top of the stairs, waiting to trip me.

It's as if my home is a vortex where clothing is deposited, like one of those survival/hunting shows, to stalk human prey.

Cue the violin from Psycho.