When I was living with my parents, Mom did the laundry on Mondays. If your favorite shirt wasn’t in the hamper before you left for school Monday morning, you were waiting a-whole-nother week for it to get washed. Once I moved out and was on my own, I kinda stuck to the once-a-week washing schedule, just because it usually took that long to accumulate a load of lights and of darks. However, living overseas in two countries with impossibly tiny washers and wickedly inefficient dryers, doing laundry became an almost daily event. If I tried to save up a week’s worth of dirty clothes, it would have taken a minimum of three days to get through it all. We’ve been back in the States, with good old American size appliances, for three months, but have not reverted to a single weekly laundry day. Whenever I see a full load has accumulated, I toss it in the washer, be it Monday morning, Thursday night, or Sunday afternoon between football games. I’m grateful that I have so many random opportunities during the week to pull something warm and snuggly out of the dryer!