When Laundry Becomes "UnFun"

I had a conversation with a twelve year old today (shocker). It went like this:

Kid: I have to do laundry
Me: Why did you run out of clean clothes?
Kid: Yeah, and I asked my mom when she was going to do my laundry and she said, "If you want it so badly do it yourself."
Me: Hahaha! I bet you wish you didn't ask that now, right?
Kid: NO!! I am so excited, I always wanted to do my laundry, have my own little basket and walk down the street...

It got me thinking, when exactly does laundry become a fun activity? And then how long after that does reality sink in and laundry becomes something that you dread each week? When does laundry become something that forces you to go to the store and buy new socks just to prolong the activity for a few more days? And just when does the idea of doing laundry become so bad that you would rather make the worst decision of your life and turn a pair of boxers inside out?

When I was in camp I couldn't wait until my year as the oldest bunk. The oldest girls had everything. They had the overnight trips, they were significantly taller, prettier, and cooler than the rest of us, the boys liked them, and most importantly, once a week they got to leave camp to go to a laundry mat to do their own laundry. Now granted, the largest appeal here was that you could leave camp, get ice cream, and see civilization, but for some reason the oldest girls would also legitimately enjoy doing their laundry. They would not send their laundry to the cleaning service that did it for us and would save it up to do their own.

During my last year at camp I came to the realization that at least one of the reasons for this was because you were finally fed up with receiving someone elses underwear in your clean laundry and then at the same time horrified that one of yours had gone missing. Going out to do your own laundry saved your from weekly panic attacks when you thought that a boy from our brother camp could have gotten your teeny bra with your name tag stitched into it like a scarlet letter. Those outings were more than just laundry, ice cream, and the equivalent of a free Valium, they were our time to be grown up and bond.

The charm would last for about two weeks when you returned home, until you realized that having mom wash and fold your laundry was a much more attractive notion. So, why was it that during the 98 degree dog days of summer in Massachusetts would us girls patiently wait for our exciting outing to a sweltering laundry mat? What was it that made us as excited as the 12 year old I talked to today?

The answer is: rarity. It's the same reason that my mom always says, "Bring home your laundry I would love to do it for you, I miss it" and then promptly changes her mind when I inhabit the house for more than three days. Her mantra then turns into an evil hissing snake when it becomes, "Pretend like you are at your apartment and I am not here, who does your laundry then?" or "Sure, you can do your laundry, you know where the machine is." When laundry becomes an sporadic practice it doesn't suck to have to do it, it almost seems like a treat. However, the moment it becomes a chore, the cold sweats of camp days past returns and you will stop at nothing to prolong the activity.