Ode To My Washer

By Sunday, I had been without a washing machine for nearly three days. The dirty clothes basket was full and I was agitated every time I merely glanced in the general direction of the laundry room or saw a detergent commercial on television. All over America the WORLD, people were folding fresh, crisp clothes while I was relegated to periodically spraying my room with "Clean Linen" scented air freshener.

I was in complete withdrawal.

And mildly desperate.

Early afternoon, I couldn't stand it a second longer and announced to Dallas that I was off to the laundromat. He looked at me as though I was vaguely alien.

"Can't it keep until the new washer arrives?"

"No."

(Quick moment of silence and rapid blinking)

"Okay, baby. Want me to load the car?"

One of the things that I absolutely adore about my husband is that he has a finely tuned sense of crazy. Additionally, he is very secure and doesn't feel the need to be right all of the time. There can only be one anal-retentive nutter in any healthy relationship and he is quite content to let that be me.

So, off I went to the laundromat.

I pulled up, muscled the basket out of the back and dragged it into the building. There were four people in the place and for the second time that day, I wondered if I had a rogue booger or something on my face because they were staring. Granted, I had taken the time to do my hair and put on make up, which was in deep, deep contrast to my fellow launderers but still, I didn't think that I looked THAT much out of place.

Then, somewhere between the door and the first washing machine, my brain dribbled out of my ears and the whole process became enormously confusing. I loaded one machine and looked all over it for the place to add the soap, even running my hands over the front to see if I'd missed a compartment when I noticed that one of the settings said "High heat".

Dryer.

I looked up to see all four people staring, again, and this time, I could have sworn that I saw pity in their eyes. I smiled, died a little inside, and tried to be casual as I scanned the room for a machine that might be a washer. Two minutes later, after wrenching my head from my ass, I had commandeered FIVE of them and proceeded to separate the basket into darks, whites with bleach, whites without bleach, towels and colours. Everything was going as planned until it I tried to pay. I had come with five dollars in quarters, which would have been perfect if I was somehow able to beam myself back to 1988. Being that Prince and the rest of the world rang in the 21st century nearly nine years ago, my five bucks bought me two measly washes and a gumball. As inconspicuously as possible, I consolidated the clothes into three machines and rummaged through my wallet for more quarters. I didn't even bother to raise my head and see who was watching this time because I could hear someone tsk tsking and my self control was beating a path to the door.

Instead, I plugged in the iPod, stuck my nose in a book and comforted myself with the knowledge that in a short 72 hours, I would no longer be forced to fold my panties in public.