Love in the Laundry Room

My husband asked to be initiated into the art of laundry. He says he did not; he just asked how to do laundry. Typical. Step by programmable step he wanted to know exactly what to do as if getting the clothes clean was a scientific activity with reproducible outcomes. I should have delegated this task to the manufacturer's instructions, but I shared my wifely wisdom instead.

First, go to the hamper and pick up the clothes lying on the floor around it. Carry it to the laundry room for sorting. Before you can set the assorted buttons on the machine for temperature or aggression, first you have to sort by color: darks and lights; fabric: cotton, wool, silk, polyester and sometimes plastic if you've got a shower curtain; and amount of dirt: smelly exercise clothes, muddy play clothes, oily kitchen towels and the rest. This sounds easy until you get down into the pile. What do you do with a white shirt with a red stripe? Wash it with darks or wash it with whites? Don't think about this. I learned this from my grown son who doesn't care whether laundry is an art or science.

Put the detergent in the machine and put the clothes on top. Pull the knob out to turn the machine on. If that doesn't work, push the knob in. If you don't have a full load of whites or darks, wash them on cold together to save time and money. It usually works out and you don't ruin too many clothes unless you've got wool socks or oily kitchen towels. Sometimes you do get pink underwear. Then you say, "Happy Valentine's Day. I love you."