A lesson in laundry. — Personal
For the first time in about ten years I'm doing my own laundry. In New York I used drop-off laundry mat service because a.) I wasn't about to spend half a day on the weekend in a laundry mat and b.) having your own washer and dryer is rare and usually a sign that you're either living an hour outside of the city, or you're living on Park Avenue and can not only afford a washer and dryer, but also a Nanny, a Driver, and Prada. So the laundry thing is novel and despite the fact that I was taught (forced) at a young age to do my family's laundry (along with the ironing... yuck!) I had nonetheless forgotten how to operate a washer and dryer. Since a mother's job is never done, I called mine, and after politely allowing her laughter for a few minutes she composed herself and shared a slice of domesticity knowledge.
My memory was refreshed with the idea that before I was to begin I had to separate my lights and my darks and my colors. It was my turn to laugh when she said "colors" and you'll understand why in a moment.
Last night I decided to start to chisel away at the rather large pile of laundry that was beginning to form a mountain in the hamper. I dumped it all on the floor and began the mundane task of separating articles of clothes based on shade, and once again was faced with the impressive pile of darks. I own a lot of black clothes, Adam owns a lot of black clothes, we know this as a general concept but when faced with a three foot mound of nothing but black clothes it's an alarming and sudden truth. So after doing two loads of darks and dumping them onto the bed to fold and hang, it was awfully apparent that you could take the New Yorker out of New York, but you couldn't take the New York out of the New Yorker.
Not to much soap or you'll get the itchies.
I don't/can't do laundry either. I cooked for the family when I was young, but my Dad has always been obsessed about the laundry so that was off-limits (even though he ruined everything). I feel your pain about not dropping it off anymore (is this only a NYC thing?), but Mr. Rabbit doesn't know that this is now his permanent job....forever.
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