It’s clear that things have changed.
You no longer have that large and cozy second floor room all to yourself. I’ve taken away the luxury ‘large’ American sized washer and dryer and replaced them with smaller, more compact versions that (truth be told) don’t dry nearly as well as our last pair of the same brand.
I no longer immediately take you out of your roomy dryer- drum and place you in a basket or toss you in the hallway for all the world to see. It’s enough I have to empty that water tank reservoir! But wait. Enough about me.
You’re now stuck in the main floor laundry room cut off from us all. I make ‘piles’ – a system only I understand- and I am sorry. You’re being neglected.
Where you once sat around in the middle of things on our second floor hallway, you now sit and wait on the laundry table collecting lint fuzz. Or worse yet- the floor. I know I know! I’m a monster! Gah! At least there was carpet.. before…
I’m also sorry that I no longer have my Charlie’s Soap for rolling around luxuriously. We had a great run for four years with the good stuff, and now I am buying a powder that I have no idea if it’s even the right kind for the machine- or for you. In fact, I don’t even know if I’m using it right. I just scoop it out and toss it in. I am too lazy to Google translate the instructions. But don’t you think adding detergent should be a universal skill?
Worst of all… I have humiliated you. For the first time in the years that I have been doing my own laundry, I have screwed up the whites/darks thing. It never used to be an issue back home as we only washed in cold. Here, I do not understand the dials and just throw it on whatever in order to accomplish the goal of cleaning you. I have ruined a lovely wool Brooks Brothers sweater of my husbands, a white polo from his place of employment, and numerous pairs of my white underwear (lesson here- I will only buy myself black from here on out). I am sorry. Laundry, I have failed you.
I know this is why you are lashing out. Consuming the socks from the boys. I get it. I do.
I hope you saw my last ditch-pathetic effort at reconciliation this week in my attempt to wash every article of clothing we own and put it away. I tried. I really did. Here we are two days later and … I know. I am back to my old ways.
Please accept my Valentine’s wishes even though I know I’ve been a miserable partner. All I ask in return is that you stop bleeding the darks on the whites in the wash.