Wash, Rinse, Repeat

Jan 2009 Issue

by Dave Ellis
My wife must love laundry: she’s always doing it. Based upon my lifestyle, I only do things I enjoy, so ergo-ipso-facto-spaghettiOs she must really enjoy the laundry. I helped her one day and, lucky for you, made some mental notes on how humorous the idea of laundry is, ‘cause that’s my job.

Also, I want to remind everyone that this is a satirical article (look up satire) so only 50% of what I say is true, the rest is done in humor. It’s your job to figure out which half is which.

Laundry is a big chore and though we live in modern times (I’m pretty sure you can always say that, since whenever you say that it is modern times) the washer and dryer are always on the wrong level of the house. We have a two story house with the bedrooms upstairs and the washer and dryer are, you guessed it, downstairs. That mean my poor wife has to carry heavy loads of laundry up and down the stairs. Luckily the stairs empty right to the laundry room and the TV is in the other room so I don’t have to make eye contact. I do hear her struggling sometimes so like a good husband I get off the couch and turn the TV up. (I can never find the remote.)

This would not be a problem if the laundry room was on the same level as the bedrooms. I have a feeling if we had a single story home the builder would have put the laundry room in the root cellar.

The next problem is that you can’t just throw clothing into the washer, you have to sort. Most people sort by color. Whites, lights, darks, towels (that’s a color?). I like to sort by smell. If an article of clothing doesn’t really smell it goes straight to the dryer to get the wrinkles out. If it has a slight stain, I put a decorative pin over the offending stain. If the items smells, then off the wash you go!

Sorting by smell works really well if you are, say, potty training two kids.
There’s a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ about potty training clothes. It’s the ammonia smell. No matter how much soap you put in there’s always that hidden smell. I say hidden because if it gets into regular clothes it doesn’t come out until it’s heat activated later during the day. Then you smell like that kid.

Which brings up another point, I’ve found that during the potty training stage certain accidents happen, not of the liquid kind. Got it? OK, so my philosophy is that said underwear is now cursed and must be no more. My wife thinks it’s salvageable whereas I want to take it to Mordor and drop it in Mt. Doom. We’ve argued about this and I think it will finally be resolved when the kids leave home and start families of their own. Problem solved.

Last summer our dryer broke so we started drying clothes outside. This works pretty fast but I found an even faster way: the freeway. Hook your clothing to the back of your car and drive like the wind! This not only dries the clothes but adds validity to your claim of why you are driving without pants, officer. Just point to the back of the car for your alibi. I can then point to the “I support the Highway Patrol” pin covering the mustard stain on my shirt and be on my way.

Editor’s note: (Editor = Wife) There might be more than 50% of this article that’s true!