Dear diary,
I was absolutely hung out to dry by my co-workers today after they caught wind of the fact that I rarely wash my sheets.
While I refrained from sharing the exact details with them – between you and I – I can literally count the times I’ve washed my sheets this year on 3 fingers.
Anyway, enough about me. Everyone on the work Slack were being absolute sheeps, saying they washed their sheets weekly or fortnightly.
That was it – I’d had enough. “Everyone who’s saying weekly is LYING, I tell you. I refuse to jump on this WEEKLY bandwagon,” I responded.
I simply cannot be fucked to wash my sheets, and I know I’m not alone.
The whole process of stripping my bed, chucking everything into the washer and waiting for them to air-dry (I don’t own a dryer) takes an entire day at least… Who wants to designate an entire day to wash your sheets ever, let alone once a fortnight? I hate you all.
Additionally, due to the fact that I live in a place that gets barely any sunlight, normal clothes can take literally 2 days to dry on the line. Does that mean I need to forfeit a night without sheets? No Felicia, I think the fuck not. Besides, I have better things in my life to do, like popping my bussy at the clubs, scrolling through softbois’ Instagrams and crying. Priorities, people.
Speaking of softbois, I’m single and rarely bring anyone home so it’s not like I’m dragging other people into this mess.
I’m also broke with expensive taste and most certainly can’t afford to throw away dumb coins on an unworthy second pair of sheets.
Above all else, though, I just can’t be fucked. Le fin. Thanks for listening to my TED talk.
I must admit, as everyone around me began to mimic Slack’s sentiments, I did start to reevaluate my life decisions and question why I wasn’t an avid sheets washer like everyone else. They then tried to overwhelm me with facts about dead skin cells and sweat and blah blah blah blah.
I mean, it’s not like I’m a walking garbage can. I’m a really clean person in general – it’s just that my sheets don’t get as much some tender lovin’ care as some other freaks’ sheets do.
Anyway, this guilt lasted about twenty seconds before I reverted back to the unapologetic bitch I was born to be.
Being shamed did not miraculously rejuvenate me with a desire to wash my sheets – they’re still just as unappetising as ever.
If you’re in your early 20s and say you wash your sheets weekly/fortnightly, you’re lying – you’re a mere sheep that feels oppressed from speaking out about your true dirty habits. (In this case I will happily be the martyr, speaking for those currently silenced by shame.)
If you aren’t lying, you are simply not be trusted. There’s something wrong with you. You’re also not fun at parties.
Washing sheets once a week is a level of adulthood that I haven’t unlocked yet and, as a Gen Z, I feel entitled to not wash my sheets, complain about how dirty they are and do nothing about it.
One day I will come out as the non-washer I truly am and reveal my true identity. Alas, I will stay disguised for now.
Until next time,
Dirty Daryl.
