I am probably a douchebag. After an all-out, Mr. Toad-like, no-holds-barred mad spree at the local consignment shop, I loaded up a full load of colored clothing into my parents' front-loading LE washer. Cycle finished, and I put it in the dryer. Now, in a rare-ish moment of douchebaggery, I put two white tops into the washer, set it to 'gentle', and 'low-soil', where it was supposed to be done in 28 minutes. So yes. I am, in fact, running an entire washload, for two pieces of clothing. Because I want to wear one of the tops tomorrow, and everything that is left for whites, has Boston Terrier hair all over it. Washing clothes with dog-towels sort of makes the washing pointless.
You can blame me for global warming if you like, but Boston Terrier hair = super-itchy me.
So. When I went to use the dryer, I found it already occupied with a full load of damp towels and clothing belonging to my parents. So I re-ran the dryer. And waited. And waited. And finally I pulled everything out to fold it....
I always do that when I empty a dryer and put my stuff in. It always made me feel like less of a douchebag in college, when I wanted the dryer, but someone had left their stuff in it. (For some reason, I am not quite fully able to accept that the greater part of the douchebaggery could and should be assigned to the person who is tying up a perfectly good dryer with laundry that is already finished. Obviously my parents are exempt from this, as it is their house, and their dryer.)
When I unloaded the dryer... there was 18 minutes left on those two tops. I folded all the dry clothes, sorted them, re-loaded them into the laundry basket put it on the kitchen table (so that the aforementioned Boston Terriers cannot make themselves a clean, freshly-warmed bed of finished laundry), poured myself a glass of water, took a benadryl (did I mention Boston Terrier hair?), and checked on the washing machine.
17 minutes left.
Clearly this early-generation front-loading LE washer knows a few tricks about space-time, important information that was not conveyed to later models, including JC's.
And speaking of time... I really do believe that - despite how closely I resemble both of my parents - that I was, in fact, switched at birth. Or else I am a pod-person, and the original me was abducted and cloned by aliens, and I am, in fact, the replacement me.
I say this, because I, the person who adores beautiful clothing and lovely underpinnings, just folded my parents' underwear, and I never saw anything more pitiful. The whites were pinky-grey and the colors looked like the colors FLDS women wear. Sad, overstretched elastic. I think the homeless people on Ellis Street would turn their nose up at these and say 'no thanks, I'll just keep going commando'. And I shall not speak of the socks, except to say this: if socks are supposed to protect your heels from blisters, and keep your toes warm, these have failed grandly on both counts.
|Captain von Trapp: It's the dress. You'll have to put on another one before you meet the children.|
|Maria: But I don't have another one. When we entered the abbey our worldly clothes were given to the poor.|
|Captain von Trapp: What about this one?|
|Maria: The poor didn't want this one.|
I have taken note of sizes, and when I get back to the ATL, I am going to do some shopping and mailing. I cannot let my parents run amok in boxcar-hobo underpinnings.