I'm having one of those weeks.

Let me start by admitting that I subscribe to the Ally McBeal philosophy of life. My problems are bigger because they're mine. (I think most people believe this whether they admit it or not.)

I won't bore you with the gory details of my beyond-icky week -- and they are gory. Let's just say I've found my way into the Bermuda Triangle of badness. And everything that sucks is coloring everything that doesn't. Even the smallest everyday frustration has somehow mutated into a behemoth.

I'm sure you've been there.

So, what does clean underwear have to do with this amazingly bad week?

I really, really need to do laundry, which isn't always as easy it might sound at my apartment complex. There's always a line in the laundry room, and it's just not terribly convenient.

So, bottom line is I'm almost out of clean underwear. TMI? Sorry. It's to the point where it's either do laundry or go shopping. (I'm sure you've been there, too. 'Fess up.) Anyway, I have neither the time nor the inclination to do either. Not this week.

A friend from high school told me that her freshman year of college, she would turn her undies inside-out. She got two wearings out of each pair, thereby doubling the amount of time between laundry trips.

I was about to resort to that. I know what you're thinking. Don't say it. Just don't.

This minor everyday annoyance -- lack of clean underwear (maybe it's not so minor) -- was fast growing into a major tear-inducing frustration. (Remember the context, people.) Then, while getting ready for work this morning, I stumbled upon a stack of neatly folded clean underwear in my closet. (Finding anything that's neatly folded in my place, especially my closet, is a minor miracle in and of itself.)

I was suddenly off the laundry hook, and I didn't even have to go to Target to accomplish it.

It's the best thing that's happened to me all week. Things are definitely looking up.