The Washer chronicles 

Chapter 2

Typical Sunday morning at nine a.m. And the mat is pretty full. Soapy front loaders agitating at their best as the dryers softly tumble their contents. I’ve always found it memorizing to watch the clothes swirl around with their vibrant colors or the crisp whites being tossed around like the purest of clouds. It’s rather peaceful, I recommend trying it.

Throughout the laundromat there are always a few washers/dryers down, or as the sign reads “under maintenance” typed in courier new font 20 pt.

A few times I have seen clothes in them, and thought oh God!  What if MY clothes got stuck in there? Not kidding, I would die. Yes I know I preach about not needing a lot but we all have that monkey on our back, that weakness that just burns our soul down to its core.  My monkey just happens to be in the shape of a horse, a giant, multicolored, all type of textured, clothes horse. Guilty. As. Charged. (No pun intended).

I love thrift shopping though, at least I tell myself that to soften the blow to my greedy clothed soul. Resale, Upscale consignment you name it I love finding treasures, and I usually do. As my husband says “Boy you will never be that woman who walks out of a store and saying you find a thing, because something always seem to find you!”

I do love that man.

My wedding presents often help me with laundry, if the word ‘often’ means whining and stomping your feet “But do we haaaaave toooooo????” Ahh boys. My oldest wedding present (yes you are correct, I do not like the word stepchild, I prefer calling them presents, after all that’s what they are to me). Anyway,  Anthony doesn’t mind. He is actually quite OCD and meticulous which is why he and I blend well.  My youngest usually just gets lost in whatever current movie is playing on the big screens around the room as I pile loads of hot towels on top of him to fold, he just continues to look up staring at the digital screen with billions of pixels and that’s when he’s mentally left us. This is when Anthony usually gives me the eye roll on his brothers mental vacancy while he helps my fold and hang to our own OCD standards.

I’ve always taken pride I’ve never been that person to leave clothes behind. I’m just not quite sure that happens. Not how do you “lose” something,sure an occasional small childs sock is stuck in the front loaders agitator can randomly be found but it’s a sock. I have this shit down to a science. I have friends say “Bring your laundry over, we’ll visit while it washes”. Which is super sweet and something I would tell my friends to do at my place but, you see, I have a slight control problem along with time management. If I can get 6 loads done in and hour and half I’m all over that like an elderly person on the home shopping network! Boom. Done. Sale complete.

When we load everything up and arrive home the hubby always greets me and carries everything up the stairs. Like I said, I do love that man. As we separate and work together as a team to get everything put away, that sense of task completeness comes over me like your favorite dancing song getting into your shoes. I do notice a sense of frantic slamming drawers coming from the boys room which I know is not Joe, he only opens more than one because it won’t all fit in there. If he could have it his way he’d have a large Rubbermaid bin in the corner that he would just dump everything into, pull it out when he’s ready to wear it, hold up the wrinkled mess up and say “Yup, looks fine to me.”  Ugh.

As I head down the hall to check out the clatter, the frantic sounds fall from drawers onto vocal cords….”Hey Ms. Lori, where’s my orange crush t-shirt dad bought me”?

Oh. Shit.

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