I have a hunch why climate change denial still holds sway, and it’s not just because of the oil and gas industry’s lock on politicians.

It’s because of laundry’s lock on me.

Take, for example, one easy step I can take to save the planet: hanging my laundry out to dry. Since I work only part-time, live in a dry climate, and no longer have children at home, this should be a no-brainer. Especially since years ago young and enthusiastic energy auditors installed a retractable clothesline for free when they switched out all our light bulbs for fluorescents.

They did not, however, stick around long enough to do any laundry. Which is how I learned that wet clothes are extremely heavy. But hey, I’m game for a little upper-arm workout if it will keep me on the good side of Al Gore. Unfortunately, keeping the ton-of-bricks laundry basket on my good side as I navigate the stairs throws me out of alignment. Pausing to rub my sore back, I balance the load on a step. It tumbles down the stairs, landing on surfaces that are not, shall we say, as pristine as they might be. (Who can see to clean in my now-dim house? On the bright side, who can see the mess?) Since I’ve switched to washing everything in cold water, the damp clothes aren’t that clean to begin with, so what’s an extra patina of fine grit?

Plus, now I get to enjoy the fresh air! For a really long time! Seriously, what would have taken 30 seconds, including cleaning the lint screen before tossing the load into the dryer, now takes a good 20 minutes. And that’s if I’m lucky, with enough clothespins and line space to hang everything properly. More often I’m draping underwear over the patio furniture and hoping it doesn’t blow into the neighbor’s yard.

The slow-clothes movement continues, especially when I forget to fetch the lot in and leave it overnight. In the morning, the laundry is limp with dew. Nothing another hour or two of solar power won’t handle.

Voila! Limpness eliminated! In fact, my laundry is now as stiff as RyKrisp. This is fine for my husband’s underwear if I’m mad at him, but makes it hard to bend the towels over the towel racks.

So I unpin the RyKrisp and crunch it into the basket in preparation for the penultimate step of playing Green Goddess Laundress—lugging everything up all those stairs again, and slipping the load into the dryer for 10 minutes on Air Fluff (no heat, but alas, no more nice fresh air scent either). Then the grand finale: Sorting. Folding. Putting everything away. (This step is the same whether you’re green with virtue, or green with envy at those wasting away happily in their bubbles of denial.)

And that is just the first load of laundry.

How much have I saved? According to a Terrapass report from 2006 (presumably data collection discontinued thereafter because too many research subjects threw themselves down the stairs), air-drying 183 loads of laundry a year saves 1,016 pounds of carbon dioxide emissions and $63.88, not counting the trips to the chiropractor. But good news–it does factor in the cost of what the report refers to as the “clothes horse!”

Which you definitely will not be if you insist on wearing RyKrisp.

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What greenery have you tried, for better or for worse?