Laundry

Laundry

For someone who is not very domesticated laundry has been the most problematic. In my brief stint in college, I used the washing machine- a few times. I didn’t have a laundry basket so inevitably dropped some dirty knickers on the stairs for my housemates to find. No clothesline either, so they festooned radiators, never smelling clean. I resorted to bringing it back to my Mothers the weekends

 Erasmus to Germany followed  Another girl, and I stayed upstairs above an Irish pub. We were both worked there without laundry or cooking facilities and far too many people having the access code to the keypad. The first night I waitressed in the bar I met my child’s father. I didn’t question at the time why a business analyst was moonlighting as a barman. After about a fortnight it was time to go to the Laundrette, no more Febreze and H & M purchases. I walked there with a massive bag of washing, warned to have plenty of change and keep track of time as people would throw your clothes out of the machine or dryer if you weren’t there. You also couldn’t leave it until the next day. Whoever was in charge took the items, never to be seen again. This opened up a new social activity, Laundry night. Every Thursday, a group of mostly English and Irish went to Die Eule. It was nice, a few drinks bookended in between washing and drying. His flat was near the laundrette, my clothes never did make it back to the Irish bar. 

And then there was something missing. He noticed before I did. Peeing on a pregnancy stick, 5 years out of date  Two blue lines appeared immediately.  I had bought it for a friend . It was a false alarm Why I didn’t just throw it away I'll never know. I'd say I had the fear after watching too many soaps episode where the pregnancy stick is always discovered in the bin.

We moved to England, living in a hotel for a bit, handwashing clothes in the bath and drying them on the towel rack. She was 9 days overdue, but I appreciated the extra time. We moved to a house with my own little clothesline. Again, when the landlord decided to move back.

He was working long hours, and I was spending longer visiting home. A bout of depression ensued (extended really, I don’t think it was post-natal though). Unknown to us the symptoms of a terminal disease for a family member were beginning. I accepted it was over and moved to a rental cottage. Laundry piled up, the simplest things can be so tricky when you are not mentally well. Bit by bit I improved. When my Grandmother died, I was able to cope. After a time, I moved to her house, where I’d spent my first two years. Then a fella who did work for my Dad started to call. He thinks my Father deliberately conked his tractor out across from the house. After he fixed it, he would have to invite himself in for tea. He had always called into my Grandmother, so he kept up the tradition. I worked in Community Employment in a Laundrette,  sometimes my laundry travelled with me. First pyjamas migrated in from the car. And 6 years on, my laundry is at his now. Plus, all the laundry from my Airbnb business. I’m Superhost now, a thing I could have even dreamed of 10 years ago. I’m still crap at keeping whites white though.