Adventures in Laundry

“How in the heck can anybody have an adventure doing laundry?” Jabber asked.

Well, not only me.  I mean, as I thought about my most recent adventure–which I’ll detail in a bit–I recalled several other adventures others have had in the past.  I’ll bet you will have a few to add, too……

“Housewives” are called that for a reason.  We seem to be married to our house and all of the things attendant to keeping it going.  I don’t care if one is a ‘career’ woman or not–for 99.9% of us women who are taking care of a family or a spouse or even just ourselves, we are married to our houses.  We can’t help it.  We’d like to divorce the house at times and occasionally, we even tell it, “I’m done!”  “I’m going to live my own life the way I want to do it!” and declare our independence from household chores.

Alas, it never lasts.  I mean somebody has to do it or it never gets done.  The husband seldom does it satisfactorily, the dog isn’t going to take it upon herself/himself to shoulder the load, and if you have kids my experience is that they don’t even KNOW what you do until they, too, become housewives.

So, there you have it.  The laundry must be done.  We all have our proclivities as to how it should be done and what we do and in what sequence and so on.  I’m not going to prescribe any particular method as I don’t really think about it, either, I just sort and throw in the clothes, treating those with stains first, and shut the lid and turn on the washer.  Right?  Isn’t that how it is done?

Yes.

Unfortunately, sometimes there are other issues which get in the way.  More about that in a moment…but first:

An uncle of mine, newly wed to his young bride (I’m speaking of the 1950’s here–you know, the ‘dark ages’ when washers had just been invented) decided to help his new wife do the laundry.  This was back in the day when brides had trousseaus, lovely lingerie specially made or purchased and these items were of very delicate quality and construction.  Right?  Her trousseau lasted about 1 day after the return from their honeymoon and the marriage almost disintegrated along with the slips and panties.  Need I say more?

My dearly departed Mother, Chris, had a hang-up with laundry–no pun intended– although she did like to hang the laundry on a clothes line outside to dry.  I’d do the same today if I HAD a clothesline and if the neighborhood association allowed it, but I don’t and they don’t.  She constantly related horror stories to my little children about the dangers of climbing in washers and dryers (among other things).  The stories always began, “There was this little boy who climbed into the…..” and from there he would emerge without ears or toes or something.   This may well account for my children’s avoidance of laundry equipment for most of their adolescence.  Of course, I can’t be sure, but I think so….the same little boy, evidently, had many mishaps over the years according to Chris, who always ended her stories with, “and so you need to be CAREFUL!”  According to Chris, this kid got his shoelaces caught in an escalator, losing a foot; climbed into a dishwasher and got duly soaped and drowned; and worst of all, stuck his head out a car window while it was moving.   She had so many stories about “this little boy….” it has become a standing story the (now adult) children relate to one another and then laugh hysterically.  Suffice it to say, Chris took laundry SERIOUSLY.  Like she did most things.

So now, I’ll tell you what laundry adventure I had this morning–with many words, even though I could write a text in two sentences and tell Racer and CCQ Daughters about it.  I like words, as Thumper often says.  She’s right, I like words.  Not everyone does, though.  Once I overheard a conversation between some women about a book.  They belong to book clubs.  They were reading the same book.

They each agreed the book had too many words.

They, evidently, don’t like words.

I had a good laugh over that.

But I digress…..

Anyway, this morning, having already sorted the clothes to be laundered into separate piles, I placed the ‘darks’ into the washer, put in the soap, closed the lid and turned on the washing machine.  Mind you, it was not even 6 a.m. and I was attempting to be quiet so as not to awaken either the Poodle or TMWLH.  I didn’t even turn on the overhead light in the laundry room.

I did notice a faint oder, however, but couldn’t quite identify it.

After returning home from the Y, I removed the clothes from the washing machines and noticed something in the bottom of the washer–I thought maybe a penny?

No.

It wasn’t a penny.

I picked it up.

It smelled too familiar……and there were more in the washer, on the clothes…..

TMWLH had inadvertently tromped through the house the other day having picked up the ‘remains’ Poppy had left in the yard.  During his sojourn in search of, well, shit, he’d stepped in some, not realizing it for a while and when he did, he marched to the utility sink in the laundry room and washed his shoes.  Not that I particularly recommend this method, but it does beat some other things which have been done in the past.

Evidently, some of the remains had fallen on the floor of the laundry room.  I had sorted the clothes and placed them on the floor.  You get it now, don’t you?

I washed a shitload of laundry this morning.

See?  I could have just written that sentence consisting of 8 words and that’d be the post.  But you would not be as enlightened as you are now about laundry adventures, would you?

Even with all these horror stories, there is one which tops the list…..and again, this happened decades ago, so it’s not a recent event, but it is true.  A friend of mine has two sons.  At the time, they were very small little boys.  They had a cat.  They decided to see if a cat would dry in a dryer.

When she opened the dryer (located in the garage, by the way), Fluffy wasn’t.

So, see, there really are worse things than washing a shitload of laundry.

**************

Weeders!  Doesn’t anybody have a laundry adventure to share?  While these stories are a bit gross, I admit, they are  also just a part of life (as we know it) and somewhat funny.  Yes, they are!  Haven’t you ever shrunk somebody’s sweater or washed your husband’s tidy whities pink?  Share!  Please…..

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