Washateria

It's the time of year for family drama. Posting will be light or heavy depending on how well compulsive eating/masturbation (possibly at the same time) serve me and how much self-loathing they generate.

Strangely enough, given my penchant for excruciating, unwanted detail, I have no desire to discuss it.

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I went to the laundromat Saturday and did almost all the laundry in the house. For too long now, I've been sliding by doing the bare necessities. I decided that something would have to be done when Gwennie and Emma tried to go to school in a Halloween costume and a puffy pink party dress (with sneakers).

So I loaded up every piece of clothing I had in the house, including the clean laundry that just needed folding/hanging (I figured I could fold it all while the first loads were washing and drying). Also every single sheet, blanket, pillowcase, and pillow that looked like it could use a bath. Just that took me about 3 hours.

I quickly realized that I was in over my head, but I filled up three washers and started in on my clean laundry. I definitely needed more folding space than was allowed by common washateria etiquette. So I smiled my friendliest smile at the nice lady pulling out her clothes from the dryer next to me.

"Boy I sure do have a lot of laundry," I said a few decibels above my normal tone of voice. "But the school told me I needed to wash everything in the house if I wanted to be rid of the lice."

The nice lady attempted to give me a watery smile back, and inched away as quickly as a psychotic white girl would let her without biting her and giving her rabies.

"Do you think these dryers get hot enough to kill them off? They'd better. I don't want to do this again."

She shrugged her shoulders noncommittally and gave me a wide berth along with the rest of the patrons. It was a necessary evil, but I did get a little lonely. Luckily, Jethro decided that even though he is a Doc-tor, he is not above helping his wife with the laundry in a washateria. Bless his dear proletarian heart. I have doctor relatives who would have their throats slit from ear to ear before they'd set foot in a washateria.

With his help, we got almost all of the laundry done. There are a few more loads, but nothing Ol' Balky in the garage can't handle. I'm relieved.