The Laundry Lie

MOM: Is it finished?
KID: Totally finished!
MOM: Then why is there a mountain?
KID: It's a fashion installation.
MOM: An installation of dirty socks?
KID: They are conceptually clean.
MOM: Conceptually is not a laundry setting.
KID: It's the new way of thinking.
MOM: Think about folding them.
KID: Folding takes away the soul.
MOM: Your clothes don't have souls.
KID: These vintage jeans do.
MOM: They are from three years ago.
KID: That makes them classics.
MOM: Classics should be folded.
KID: I prefer the organic heap.
MOM: The organic heap is a hazard.
KID: It's a cozy landscape.
MOM: Get your laundry out of here.
KID: I can't, it's an ecosystem.
MOM: An ecosystem of what?
KID: Dust bunnies and lost coins.
MOM: Give me the coins.
KID: No! They are for my savings.
MOM: Savings from your own floor?
KID: It's called urban foraging.
MOM: Foraging in a dryer is weird.
KID: It's efficient recycling.
MOM: Just fold the shirts, please.
KID: Shirts are too stiff to fold.
MOM: They are cotton, not cardboard.
KID: This brand feels like cardboard.
MOM: Then stop wearing them.
KID: But they are my favorite!
MOM: Favorite cardboard shirts?
KID: Exactly. I love the structure.
MOM: The only structure here is a mess.
KID: It's an unstructured aesthetic.
MOM: That's just another word for lazy.
KID: Lazy is a state of mind.
MOM: Your mind needs to be on chores.
KID: Chores are a social construct.
MOM: So is your allowance.
KID: Wait, what?
MOM: No folding, no money.
KID: That's unfair!
MOM: Life is unfair. Fold.
KID: Can I just shake them?
MOM: Shaking is not folding.
KID: It removes the wrinkles.
MOM: Only if you are a dog.
KID: Dogs have it easy.
MOM: Dogs don't get allowance.
KID: Still sounds better than this.
MOM: Do I need to count them?
KID: Why would you count clothes?
MOM: To see what's missing.
KID: Nothing is missing!
MOM: Then where is the blue sweater?
KID: It's... evolving.
MOM: Evolving into what?
KID: A very small rag.
MOM: Did you shrink it?
KID: I used the 'Extreme Heat' mode.
MOM: Why would you do that?
KID: I wanted to be fast.
MOM: Now it fits a doll.
KID: It's a miniature classic now.
MOM: You are impossible.
KID: I am a visionary.
MOM: A visionary of laundry failure.
KID: At least I'm consistent.
MOM: Consistent in your laziness.
KID: It's called energy conservation.
MOM: Conserve your energy into folding.
KID: Can we trade?
MOM: Trade what?
KID: You fold, I do the dishes.
MOM: You hate the dishes more.
KID: True. Bad trade.
MOM: Start with the towels.
KID: Towels are too big.
MOM: They are rectangles!
KID: Big rectangles are intimidating.
MOM: You are a teenager, not a toddler.
KID: Toddlers don't have to fold.
MOM: Exactly. Grow up.
KID: Growing up is a trap.
MOM: The only trap here is this pile.
KID: I'll do it in ten minutes.
MOM: You said that an hour ago.
KID: Time is relative, Mom.
MOM: My patience is not relative.
KID: It's very low right now?
MOM: Zero. Absolute zero.
KID: Okay, okay! I'm folding!
MOM: Thank you.
KID: Do I get a bonus?
MOM: You get to keep your phone.
KID: Wow, such generosity.
MOM: Don't push it.
KID: Fine... but the jeans stay heapy.
MOM: FOLD THE JEANS!
KID: AHHH! Okay!