Men and Laundry

I read an article a while ago by Mario Turchiarolo, entitled, The Downy Ball Paradox . It was an enlightening little article about the magic of the Downy Ball, and it reminded me about my own magical laundry experiences.

 

My ex refused to understand why I lamented doing laundry every day for six people when all I had to do, according to him, was push a button. I remember his upper lip curling in a sneer, “You moron, all you have to do is push a button.”

 

OK, I lied. He didn’t call me a moron. He told me to blow it out my butt.

 

OK, I lied again. He didn’t say, “butt.”

Whatever. I couldn’t stop thinking about that button. He had been doing his own laundry for several years and because he was a man, and men know how to get things done quickly, I believed he knew the secret for an efficient laundry experience. I just had to find that button.

 

I looked everywhere for that magic button – in his sock drawer, under the bed, in the glove compartment – I even looked on the washer and dryer. He must have had it embedded in his body, or maybe he took it to work with him, because I never found it.

 

But I fantasized about how it might work…

 

Bedding, towels, and diapers (yes, I used cloth) would know when they needed washing and remove themselves from bathrooms and bedrooms. The diapers would jump from the diaper pale into the washer and the bedding and towels would float down the hallways and into the wash with absolutely no help from me whatsoever, except for the push of that button.

 

Clothes would be equipped with sensors that the washer and dryer could read. When the item was removed from the body it would, all by itself, find its way to the appropriate color pile where, when it reached maximum weight, it would fling itself into the washer.

 

The appropriate button would depress after the right amount of laundry detergent and fabric softener filled each dedicated compartment, and everything would come out clean – all as a result of that magic button.

 

Once the wash cycle completed, that magic button would cause hangers to fly out of closets, avoiding small children (and parents) while they grabbed articles of clothing that shouldn’t go into the dryer. That button would fold clothes over a drying rack that weren’t yet ready for closets or drawers.

 

The rest of the laundry would drift into the dryer, which, when it felt the load enter it, would automatically turn on and dry for the exact time required.

 

That same button would then fold clothes that belonged in drawers and place them into their designated drawers. It would also hang up clothes that belonged in closets and distribute each item to its appropriate color-coordinated place in each closet.

 

The clothes on the drying rack, when dry, would follow the same procedure as did the clothes that left the dryer.

 

Every day the cycle would resume while I watched in awe the magic of that button. My only job, other than to push the button, would be to duck and get the kids out of the way when the hangers and folded laundry flew by.

 

Sadly only one person on the entire planet had that button – my ex. He never allowed me to use it throughout the entire marriage as he watched me do it the old fashioned way – bending over massive amounts of piled-up clothes from each room, dragging them all to the laundry room, sorting them, putting them in the washing machine…

 

I should have demanded that button in the divorce.

 

Share this Post: