Laundry Crisis

My fellow Americans:

Over the last couple of days, it has become evident that we, as a nation, are in the midst of a full blown laundry crisis. All of our standard, go-to outfits are in the hamper, and we've already tapped reserves deep in the back of our closet.

Yesterday, we even considered calling in sick before discovering a pair of pants that had evidently slipped off its hanger some years ago. As you well know, the pants barely fit, they had dried gum or something in the pocket, and the label indicated that they were from Structure. Structure. Now, we made it through the day, but I don't think any of us want to face another one like it anytime soon.

Some of my colleagues are suggesting we should just run down to Target, pick up a pack of Hanes, a couple of cheap tops, and push through to the weekend. "Spray some Febreze," they say. "Leave everything on the fire escape overnight."

This, my friends, would be tantamount to slapping a Band-Aid on a shark bite.

It is not only unwise, but downright irresponsible for us to try and spend our way out of this problem. The only sensible option we have is sacrifice. As unpleasant as it may be, we simply must get down to the basement and put in a load before suppertime. We must stay up a little later to get those towels folded. We must set that alarm for two in morning, drag ourselves out of bed, and get those whites in the dryer. Not much fun, I grant you. But neither was the Depression. Neither was WWII.

Unless we act now, we risk facing a far more serious crisis down the road: lugging everything into the car and burning our entire Saturday at that creepy laundromat next to the weird grocery store that always looks empty.

I don't know about you, but that's not a future I'm interested in. Not for me, not for my children.

Let's clean it up, America.

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