Thursday, October 15, 2015

Dirty Laundry and What's that Smell?

No. The Rapier household does not have a washer and dryer yet. The water that comes into my house is rusty. I don't want discolored whites. Orange, in this case, is not the new black. The plumbing and water heater are all relatively new. The pipes from the main water line to the house, however, is as old as running water, I am told. So, with that in mind, I do not invest in the modern convenience of having the units in my rental home. And no, I don't want to buy additional laundry additives that takes the rust out of the wash water. I did that when we lived in the country and it ruined my cottons. Sheesh.

For your viewing pleasure. He was not
at the laundromat today. He's on loan
from LovingMaleModels on
Today was a much needed laundry day. The idea of spending my first weekend off in over six weeks (last weekend) in a laundromat held absolutely zero appeal. Additionally, the weekends are the busiest time of the week to visit said laund-O-rama. Being there during a busy period takes a lot of patience. While I do enjoy people watching, watching people in close quarters while they allow their children to treat the facility as a playground tests what minuscule level of patience and tolerance that I possess.

Without mincing words, I had a shit-ton of laundry to do. The one thing a person without a washer & dryer knows is that you must own a minimum of a month's worth of underpants. The worst or most uncomfortable pairs are reserved for those has-it-really-been-a-month-since-we-went-to-the-laundromat occasions. Those crack invading, nearly thread bare skivvies are shoved to the back of the drawer or possibly cohabitating with the weird socks you bought for a holiday but have only worn once because when you did they made your feet smell like Limburger cheese. Thank the undergarment gods that the underwear do not have the same effect.

Speaking of smells. Upon entering the 'mat, a whiff of poo-gas invaded my nostrils. There were three women folding and fluffing in the area of the offensive stench. One of them was guilty of over fluffing her SBDs. Ugh. Talk about nasty. Even after walking in an out the automatic sliding door the fog of flesh melting stink remained. To find relief, I stuck my face in the box of Purex dryer sheets that is kept on hand in case I forget to add Downy to the wash. To avoid the eye watering essence, I moved to the opposite end of the facility. That, however, didn't prevent the possibility of crop dusting.

When we were kids and had abominable gas, my mother's response was to tell us to go poop. We also weren't permitted to call our gas farts. It was very Brady Bunchesque in that regard. Toots, stinkers, poots, but never ever farts. We couldn't say crap, either. To my mom it may as well have been the F-Bomb. My brother once had his mouth washed out with Joy dish washing liquid because he said dang it. He probably experienced a variety of soapy mouth washes before and after that, but it is the one time I recall. It is probably due to her strict policy on potty mouthiness that I cuss like Debra Morgan (Dexter-Showtime).Warning! that link is not meant for the faint of heart, children, grandparents, your mom or dad unless he was a salty sailor and definitely NSFW....put on your headset. Jeez, just don't click it. Well, don't click it unless you've seen Dexter. If you have seen the program then you get the reference and watching the video clip is unnecessary. 

So, yeah. I have clean clothes and another month's worth of clean underpants.

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