January 31, 2014

I Love Love Love Guys Who Kick Ass At Doing Laundry

I was never taught how to do laundry growing up. College was the first time I put hamper to laundry room. The year was 1996 and the Internet was a baby that only had chatrooms and Livejournals, so I couldn't Google how to properly do laundry or anything.

After studying the directions on the back of the laundry detergent bottle, I took a deep breath, stuffed a week's worth of clothes into the washing machine, drizzled the blue soap over the heap, shrugged, and hoped for the best.

Fuckin' laundry. How does it work? 
Fifteen years later, I still have no idea how to wash anything that's not dark and made of cotton. I'm afraid to buy any clothes that need to be dry cleaned so I avoid them like the plague. Ditto for items that need to be hand-washed. If it can't be tossed into a washing machine with its clothing brethren, I'm not interested in wearing it.

I'm always surprised when I don't ruin my clothes in the wash. It's a victory for me any time they come out intact, without being shredded or otherwise damaged beyond repair. It's a straight-up miracle when the clothes come out of the dryer fluffy and clean.

Over the years, I've had my fair share of laundry mishaps. I ruined my favorite nightie. It got tangled and ripped in the wash; it looked it was attacked by a werewolf. I've shrunken a closet's worth of sweatshirts. I've also turned all of my black jeans into dark gray jeans. I don't know what I'm doing.

So I'm always super impressed that a guy has a tight laundry game. He knows the proper temperatures for the proper fabrics. He separates his loads into whites and darks. He even gets his work clothes dry cleaned on the regular.

He's also great at folding, a skill which has eluded me my entire life. Seriously, I can't fold for shit. I just re-shape the garment into a loose rectangle and jam it into my overflowing drawers, hoping it doesn't get too warped in the process.

Kickstartr to have Vickie Miner teach me how to fold
But him? All of his t-shirts are folded so crisp they're basically fabric Pringles. His sweaters are perfect, sharp squares, layered gingerly on top of one another on his spotless shelves. Even his socks are pristine. They're tucked into one another to make a solid ball of clean sock. There's a village of them happily nestled together in his sock drawer.

It's always a treat when he does my laundry for me. My Old Navy longsleeves look so happy in a crisp pile on his bed. My tank tops have never been so lovingly arranged. He even laid out my dresses perfectly. Sigh.

So all those fold-wizards and laundry lords out there, I salute you. You are a higher evolved life form and I'm in awe of your skills.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

I LOVE YOU ANNA! I'm currently reading your book and it's just as amazing and hilarious as your blog! If I saw you in a coffee shop, I would paparazzi the shit out of you. I mean, like full on instagram to facebook and then twitter shit. I don't even have a twitter account, but I would make one if I met you!!! Come to Seattle!!

Anonymous said...

Wait, you're 36ish?

Anna said...

Hell yeah. I have the wiry gray hairs to prove it.

tushar said...

i remember being that laundry jedi teaching the padawans how to separate colors and choose water temperature and ironing shoulders on a shirt.

it was greatly fulfilling.

Post a Comment