Old School Laundry
Laundry piles up around here. And on days when the temperatures soar into the triple digits, I avoid doing it. I dunno, having the washer and dryer in the dead center of my home makes me leery of adding any additional heat to the mix.
I often wonder what sort of whack feng shui we've got going on. I keep meaning to remedy it somehow. I mean, with the aid of some book I bought a long time ago and have since misplaced, I figured out that maybe my husband's job woes when we moved up here 8 years ago stemmed from the fact that his head was directly aligned with the toilet. We moved the bed, he got a new job.
So, maybe having my whirring, sloshing laundry facilities directly behind my office and in the very center of my home is putting off weird chi. I don't know. If I find the book, I'll figure it out.
Back to the point of the story
So yes, laundry is piling up, and it has been hot, and I didn't do it, and it piled up more and then we got a break in the weather. Normal temps! I can wash and dry!
I toss in a load of clothes. All is well.
I switch them to the dryer, and start a load of all of my husband's work clothes. Like, ALL of his dress shirts and pants. You see where I'm going with this, don't you?
But wait, let me back up. See, in my brilliant mind, since the laundry never seems to be done in the right order (ie, I get on a bender with the bedding and we're out of towels, or I wash every stitch of kids clothing and my husband's stuck wearing an old Hard Rock Cafe shirt under a dark colored dress shirt because his undershirts are in a hamper.
Yeah. So! I decide - we've got 5 family members. And there are 7 days in the week. Ergo - stay with me now - I can do one (or two) loads of laundry a day - and assign each family member their own day. They are responsible for their own laundry making it into the hamper. They can't hit the hamper, they don't have clean clothes. It's genius!
So - I threw all of my husband's clothes into the washer and fired it up. I switched it to the dryer, and checked back in about 30 minutes into the dry time, because I like to hang up the shirts while they still have a little damp to them. Just a tiny bit.
I pulled out the first shirt. There are purple streaks of some sort of ink on the shirt. Oh no.
I pulled out the next shirt. Purple streaks.
One by one, all 15 shirts and three pairs of pants. Purple streaks.
On the verge of hysteria, and spewing some choice words at the universe, I grabbed a cup full of detergent and a tooth brush and began to laboriously scrub liquid Tide into the purple streaky parts of each item. The air around me turned blue and smoky, such was the cussing. My husband, scandalized, took the kids on a bike ride, while I worked my way through 15 shirts and three pairs of pants, one square inch at a time.
Firing up the soak cycle, I dumped the whole mess back in, and added three times the legal limit of detergent. And then I did a little rain dance. And had a shot of whiskey.
After three agitation cycles, and five hours of soaking, I crossed my fingers and set the machine to wash.
It started churning and I continued my feverish hoping that it would work.
The machine spun to a stop after two rinse cycles, and I yanked one of the shirts out. No purple!
I removed another. No purple!
Another. NO PURPLE!
Dude! I fixed it!
To this moment, I can't tell you what it was that stained the clothes. I searched high and low for a pen, a crayon, something. And there wasn't a damn thing.
Perhaps that pathetic goldfish we have in the kitchen has offset the bad feng shui of the laundry. I don't know, but I couldn't be more pleased at not having to replace all those shirts.