Chores

Yesterday, I went to the laundromat for the first time. At first, I was apprehensive. As much as I love doing laundry (which is actually, disturbingly enough, a lot because I really like making things clean, folding and when I'm done, I kind of get half the high I normally get from shopping because I have so many new outfit options), I was worried that I wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much without being able to watch Lifetime while the machines ran. But, I was at my dirty clothes threshold (which, incidentally enough, occurs when I have no more socks and am on my third string underwear - I'll save the story of my undergarment classification system for another day), and something had to be done. After a failed venture to Harvey Washbanger's Eat, Drink, Do Laundry (it seems that concept didn't work out too well for old Harvey since the building now contains a Mexican restaurant), I found myself at the Squeaky Clean Laundromat. Sure, I did feel a little awkward because I quickly learned that if you're the woman in the laundromat, every man there will assume you know everything about washing clothes because of your gender, but after shrugging my shoulders over fabric softener inquiries a few times, most of the men realized I was no expert. Then, after a few more moments, I was in love. Apart from the warm, humming environment, here's a list of what I adore about the laundromat: 1. The Efficiency. I could do all my laundry loads at the same time, and my clothes were dry within thirty minutes. 2. The Pac-Man Machine. Does it get better than that? 3. The Soft Rock. I got to hear "Manic Monday" for the first time since I bought a Bangles tape for my pocket rocker in 1987. In fact, I was about to designate the laundromat as my new, secret happy place (the former title holder being the library), when I found a way to mar the experience. I removed a pair of jeans from the washing machine and started shaking them out so I could hang them up to air dry for a moment. Now, I thought that I had carefully checked all the pockets and made sure there were no socks stuck in the legs, but the difference between my thinking and the truth usually gets me into trouble. I was about two shakes in when a pair of my underwear came flying out of the jeans and landed about ten feet away. Of course, airborne panties are usually enough of an embarrassment, but since this is my life, the underwear also managed to land right next to the one guy in the laundromat who didn't seem to be doing any actual laundry but just seemed to be around to soak up the atmosphere and yell at the television. He was the last person I wanted seeing my unmentionables, and retrieval under his attentive gaze was awkward, to say the least. It looks like the library is no longer in danger of losing its special designation. I like that the probability of lingerie mishaps is much lower there.