If you wear socks and sandals to avoid tying shoelaces, you’re probably too lazy.


Everyone’s lazy from time to time.

On a Sunday, after a long work week, it’s perfectly normal to kick your feet up?—?maybe order some delivery food, pop on your favorite Netflix series and take a personal day. That’s a time when it’s acceptable to be lazy.

However, in my own life, I’ve noticed some things I do demonstrate a higher level of laziness?—?one that most people might consider unacceptable. I like to call it “peak” laziness.

When I do use the microwave, I always put shit in for 1:11 or 2:22 because I’m literally too lazy to lift my finger up and hit the zero button before hitting Start.

Is it a problem? Maybe. Am I running from it? Well, I’m not really moving too fast, which is actually a large part of the problem. Nevertheless, I would like to acknowledge the signs of peak laziness, to provide a glimpse into the life of someone (*cough,* me, *cough*) who sleeps on a bare mattress days after washing his sheets because he’s too lazy to put the fucking stretchy sheet around the mattress (which is against the wall).

If you’re nodding in recognition at any of the warning signs below, it may be a sign of a problem. (Trust me—I’m very aware I have a problem.)

I wear socks and sandals because I’m too lazy to bend down and tie shoelaces.

Yeah, I’m not proud of it. As a rule of thumb, if I’m wearing ankle socks and a pair of flip flops, odds are I’m not trying to make a fashion statement. Many people might think the combination is symptomatic of a life of beer chugging, lacrosse playing and other “bro” things—but in reality, I choose to wear socks and sandals because I’m too lazy to bend over and put regular shoes on.

I once watched almost an entire season of ‘Sex and the City’ because I couldn’t find the remote during a marathon.

Yeah, this happened. One time I watched like seven or eight consecutive episodes of ‘Sex and the City’ on, like, a Sunday afternoon because I woke up on the couch and couldn’t find the remote.

While the remote physically couldn’t have been too far, to inspect the area beyond the immediate surface of the couch would’ve required me to get off the couch. Evidently, that notion was something I was far too lazy to entertain—especially hungover on a Sunday morning.

Granted, after the first, like, 20 minutes, I stopped looking for the remote. Great show.

I keep a jar of peanut butter with a spoon bedside.

I keep all sorts of weird shit next to my bed to avoid making any unnecessary trips to the kitchen. Typically, these are foods belonging to the nut family—specifically, nut butters and spreads. It’s very convenient.

…until I bring a woman home with me. Then I have to sprint into my room first and bat like two or three jars of Nutella under my bed before she has the opportunity to walk in and flick the lights on. Yeah, keeping a jar of JIF at your bedside isn’t very suave, but having the option to eat peanut butter with a spoon—without having to walk to the kitchen—is really one of life’s finer notes.

I order ice cream from Postmates with alarming frequency.

I’m ashamed by the frequency with which I order ice cream delivery to my apartment. It would be one thing if my apartment was, I don’t know, in the middle of the Sahara desert or something.

But that’s not the case. I live in Manhattan, where there’s an ice cream place on every corner?—?three of which are within 18 steps of my apartment. Despite this, time after time, I willingly spend an extra $6 for Postmates to hand deliver an ice cream cone, most of which ends up melted on the Postmate’s hand. But at least I don’t have to move.

I never feel obligated to microwave leftovers.

While cold pizza is an American tradition as old as time, I’m not sure the rest of the foods that I eat cold?—?to avoid waiting 60 seconds for them to heat in the microwave?—?are as traditional. In my defense, I won’t venture into any raw meats or anything potentially harmful?—?but the majority of leftovers, situationally, I may eat cold if I’m feeling especially lazy.

Keep in mind, when I do use the microwave, I always put shit in for 1:11 or 2:22 because I’m literally too lazy to lift my finger up and hit the zero button before hitting Start.

I throw things at light switches.

Because I’m too lazy to walk to most of the light switches in my apartment, I typically resort to throwing small objects at them, hoping to bump the switch up or down, depending on the desired lighting.

I’m sure that at the biochemical level, I’m actually exerting more energy by throwing something across the room. But it still feels like less work than having to physically get up. So remote controls, wallets, even plastic cups (if the situation is deemed drastic enough) get thrown around my apartment with great frequency.