Second little known mysuestories factoid (I know...I am just spoiling the hell out of you today, aren't I?)---Fact #2- I hate ironing. Couple this with Fact #1, and this explains that when that dryer buzzes done, I am up and
Based on this confession, it comes as no surprise to me that laundry fixations (up to and maybe including rubbing up against the washer during its' spin cycle?) apparently run in the family.
I was on the phone with my Kister (that's sister with a kiss--not Keister-my Keister can't dial yet, but if ever my ass picks up that little talent I will post all about it...Or maybe I will just let my ass call you on the phone).
Anyway, Kister called and was doing what we do best on the phone together. Bitching. We are pros at bitching on the phone. We rant, we rave, we reveal our biggest annoyance of any given moment, and then we hang up. It helps, and, shit, who can afford an appointment with Freud these days, anyway?
So Kister is bitching about today's gripe, which happens to be the imminent demise of her washing machine, which, she swears is a mere few years old. Complaining, with the phone in one hand, while flipping through papers searching out a warranty with the other, she laments on how her old faithful Maytag just won't squeeze her wet linens like it used to. (I know...this is sad...kinda like when we had to watch Brad drop Jen, no?)
In the course of laundry lamentations, I revealed a deep dark secret to her, that in mysuestories manor, the clothing you took off at 8 p.m. last night is already hanging back in your closet this morning. (Sad, but true. I have that little entertainment going on.)
I even shared that the kids (for the most part) place their clothes directly in the washer immediately after showering or undressing. (No. No. No. After showering and redressing. We do not all happily prance to the wash room naked. Well, no one but the mountain man, and that's another post).
After my little "clothes directly in washer, do not pass GO" disclosure, Kister's end of the line got real quiet. After a moment, she whispered ( I swear!):
"You mix all the clothes together?"
Gulp! Deep Inhale! Is she for real?
mysuestories: "Um, yeah. I don't have time to wash each piece individually."
Kister : " The darks mingle with the whites?!!!!"
At this point I think we are now in Alabama pre-1950. Have I committed a crime here by introducing my dirty laundry to a Woodstock type environment? Is that why the old concert jerseys smell like pot?
mysuestories: "Um, Kister? I thought segregation was banned. Or lifted. Or just plain
Kister: " THAT was for people, not delicates!!!!"
mysuestories, very concerned for Kister's mental status, I try to put her at ease. So I lie.
"Well, I usually separate the whites from the rest." Yeh. About once a year, when the whites have gone over to grey. Then I bleach the hell out of 'em, and they promptly fall apart.
Kister: "So you have only two categories for laundry?"
mysuestories: "Um.......how many are there?"
Would you believe she has seven???!!!!
Here they are, in no particular order (which is probably killing her anal little mind right now. Or it would if she bothered to read this blog!
Kister's Laundry Classifications
#1- Red clothing only.
#2- Orange and yellows. (?????)
#3- Greens and light blues.
#4 - Dark blues, browns, and blacks.
#5- Tans and khakis.
#6- Whites (Except socks?!)
#7- White socks. (Reasoning? Dirty socks make the other clothes dirty......Yeah, I would imagine all those smelly gym socks sharing tales of jock strap stories and other locker room trash talk with the fine white delicates....)
Seven laundry classifications? I don't have that much variety in our pantry, for the love of Christ! Do you have any idea how long it would take my family to make a whole load of RED laundry?
And do ya really think the khakis know they are not brown? Is my Kister a closet laundry racist?
What would happen if the reds played with the blues? Would a giant laundry Barney come out of the dryer wielding Tide with a "Safe Bleach Alternative"?
Who is this Kister, and what has she done with the girl I grew up with, a girl who could projectile vomit in her bed at 3 a.m., and depend on ME to wash her bed linens -- pillow cases, pj's, and different colored sheets, and washed them ALL together, at that?
And when. sweet Jesus, did she become a laundry Nazi?