In the entire time since I moved out of my parents house when I was a teenager, I have never lived anywhere where I’ve had my own washer and dryer.
Well, that is not entirely true.
When I lived with my friend Amy back in the IHOP days, we had this crazy ghetto portable washer/dryer that plugged in to our kitchen sink and pulled and drained the water through there. The thing was so small it could only fit a few pairs of jeans and a couple shirts at a time so laundry was always an all day affair, and as a bonus, the drying feature on this little beaut didn’t really work.
We had to dry our clothes, so we had a couple of legit drying racks that we put up in our living room and just draped the rest of clothes all over our living room furniture.
It was an interesting time.
Anyway, since then I’ve mostly been bringing all of my laundry to my parent’s house, and when I can’t make it there once a week I beg friends to let me use their washing machines.
But you know, that shit gets really old.
For one thing, it’s a pain in the ass to pack up all of our laundry and schlep it over to someone’s house to do it. This usually involves a few staircases, and occasionally (what I feel like is too often) bad weather to traverse while carrying heavy, awkward laundry baskets.
Also, it is another one of those things that makes me feel like crap for being poorish and not able to live in a nice place that comes with all it”s own appliances.
“Hi, can I please come do laundry at your house and use up water and energy at your place because I am loser and don’t want to rape myself and spend $20 bucks a week on this act of basic hygiene?”
So lately, we’ve been going to the laundromat.
Turns out the whole experience is worth the $20 bucks.
I’ve learned to use the biggest machine they have – I can fit a week’s worth of Elise’s and my clothes in there – then use the extractor to cut down on drying time, and the whole process takes about an hour and a half.
Elise chat’s with the attendant who adores her, she plays or reads on her Kindle while I read on my Kindle, and truth be told the hour and a half just flies by and I end up wishing that the dryer had to run a little longer so I could just have a few more minutes reading in this quiet, peaceful place.
She loves watching what the machines do, as all the washers and dryers are front loading.
She loves riding around on the baskets – and it’s okay with the attendant and I only let her do it when there are few or no other people around.
She loves cuddling up on the little plastic chairs reading with mom.
Lazy Sunday has turned into Laundry Sunday.
We’re cool with it.