Laundry Day

Well, it must be laundry day. I can’t find any socks in the drawer – any of mine, anyway.

I actually learned quite a few years ago how to do my own laundry, when I was a bachelor. Really. I scrupulously read the instructions on the side of the detergent box, sorted my clothes accordingly and washed four shirts in one load, a pair of pants in another and the unmentionables in the third. I was on a tight clothing budget…

After spending the entire afternoon doing that, I decided that the instructions would have to be modified slightly. For the next few years, darks were one load and lights were another. I kept all the red stuff in one pile and washed them once a month, when there was enough to do – no way was I going to risk having pink shirts at work. I lived in the mountains, not Miami.

Then I met my darling wife, and it was a bit easier doing the wash – more clothes made the sorting a bit easier. Then the kids came and it became easier and harder at the same time. Easier to sort, harder to get it all done in an afternoon. It took the better part of two days, even when the kids were grown up enough to do the laundry chores as well. Clothes seemed to get into the washing machine and once in a while into the dryer. Never really got to the folding table or back into everyone’s dresser or closet. Funny how that works.

It also became harder to sort. I was using my usual routine, whites in that corner, colours (all of them) in that corner, darks behind the water heater. Very efficient and I could use my feet to shove everything where it needed to be. Or so I thought.

My wife came in as I was just finishing up. She looked at my technique and started to suggest a few improvements. I liked the way I did it. She liked being able to find the darks without digging them out from behind the heater.

I always thought sorting by primary colours worked best – new blue jeans and black clothes are dark. White t-shirts, sport socks and underwear are whites. Everything else is coloured. Apparently, there are various shades of colours, like light colours and dark colours. These are not to be confused with darks. Or reds. But reds can go with darks. Not dark colours, just darks.

So instead of having three neat piles of clothes to stuff into the washer, we now had, let me see, six baskets to fill up. Whites, light colours, dark colours, darks, reds and delicates, which could go into any of the appropriate colour piles only if they were in a safety bag.

Then I was told that there are some things that cannot go into the dryer. Now, I actually looked at the little tags that the clothing manufacturers attach to the shirts and pants. After six months studying all the little hieroglyphic symbols, I thought I had it all figured out. Thank goodness I took archaeology in University…

Apparently, there are some things that must be hung to dry that the manufacturers don’t know about, but my darling wife does. There is stuff that can’t go into the dryer even though the tag says it can and stuff that can go in the dryer but shouldn’t ‘cause they shrink too much. I’m not sure how to tell what’s what – to my mind, there is wet or dry and not a lot in between. I can’t find anything on the tags about that, either.

Maybe it’s that little pyramid with the two bars in the middle. No, wait. The pyramid with the two bars tells you about landing a spaceship in Egypt.

All I have to say is that I’m really glad it’s coming up to summer. T-shirts and shorts don’t have any special instructions (at least mine don’t) and it takes the pressure off not having to wear socks.

Looks like I’ll be good until the first snowfall.