Never heard this term.
The Lil’wrekker asked me about my Doom Pile this morning.,(who knew?)
She was looking for a particular sweater.
I told her go look on the Futon in my room.
She hollered back “You mean in your Doom Pile?”
So being in an ever viglilent pursuit of education and learning (I was bored)
I googled.
Everyone has one, it seems.
It’s that pile of clothes.
Laying about somewhere in your house. The bed in the spare bedroom. Your room. A chair in the hall.
They never exactly get folded and put away.
The dog or cat may be fond of napping there.
Supposedly, they’re laundered.
Anytime you can’t find something: To the pile for excavation.
Then, of course you gotta wash it again. Cause?, well you never know.
Some items tend to be repeat customers.
Some items have chosen the Doom Pile as a final resting place.
One-sock orphans are there.
That one pair of dainties, that wanna be thongs and don’t get chosen, night after night. They beckon and lie, saying “Look, we’re cute! Nice, silky fruity pattern fabric. This time we’ll remain in the right place and not be so intrusive. Promise.”
I consider my ‘doom pile’ the pile of stuff that I don’t know quite what to do with while I’m organizing other stuff. Sort of a non-cabinetry junk drawer.
I just donated my doom pile to Purple Heart; any clothes I have outgrown/replaced goes in the pile and every couple of months I bag them up and Purple Heart comes around and collects them.
…Well, except for the gym and swim stuff (and the jeans and shirts) ((and other bits of clothing)) that reside on the opposite side of my bed…
My Doom Pile is there because most of the time I forget the clothes are even there. Why did I keep them in the first place? It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Somewhat related…in a design to wash my sheets and the doom pile dirties.
I separate the whites/lights from darks. Throw the sheets in with any light colored item from the Futon.
I reach for the bleach. It is a new jug. So I gotta get that plastic thing off before I could carefully measure and add my bleach to the machine.
I got the scissors and stabbed it. The bottle of bleach kinda went sideways, tipped over. I jumped back to not get splash on my jammie bottoms.
It happened anyway.
Bleach just poured out.
Now I have the cleanest laundry room floor in two counties. Un-bleached but washed sheets.
Two Siamese who objected strenuously to the odor. Mid-dau griping cause her eyes burn.
We got it aired out. Finally.
I took the sheets out of the dryer and immediately threw them on the Futon.
Atop the low portion of my dresser…dresser shaped like this:
| |_____
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Well, crap, can’t get that pseudo graphic to format properly, but you get the idea.
Is a very large pile of flannel shirts and warm vests. I am out of closet space for them, but they do get rotated into circulation periodically. I have so many nearly identical flannel shirts that I expect people think I never change clothes. I could morph from black and white through green and off into reds and no one would notice.
Another name for the Doom Pile is any adolescent’s bedroom floor.
A directive from a parent to “Clean your room,” is followed by said adolescent scooping up the Doom Pile and placing it in the laundry hamper.
Many, many adolescents have been threatened with death and/or dismemberment when clothing in the laundry basket is found to be folded or hanging on a hanger.
measure and add my bleach to the machine.