Wednesday, July 24, 2019

The Laundry Room

Our washing machine weighs 200 (and one!) pounds and this evening Andrew, Rachel, and I managed to lift it up and set it on its pedestal. This was no easy feat, but now our washer and dryer finally match, and our appliance saga should be over (because in addition to delivering our appliances and not installing them, and then having to hire a plumber to get our kitchen up to code so a new dishwasher could be installed, one of our pedestals arrived with a cracked clamp so we had to mail it back and instead of sending us a replacement they issued a refund and we had to reorder's been an ordeal).

Hopefully with the washing machine up a little higher I'll be able to see whether or not there's already a load inside!

I'm not sure I wrote about this on the blog (though I know I wrote about it on Facebook).

Keeping up with the laundry (and regular life, in general) has been difficult on top of trying to unpack and organize our home and set up our life here. One day I carefully sorted out a load of whites and threw it into the washing machine, which I assumed was vacant. When our washing machine sang its cheery tune ("Die Forelle" by Schubert) I opened the door, reached in and grabbed a handful of soggy...darks?!

Had I washed a load of darks instead of the whites I so distinctly remembered doing? Had someone else switched the whites to the dryer and started another load? Had I put the whites in the dryer?

I opened the dryer and found it was empty so I flung my handful of clothes inside and reached in for another handful. More darks? I squatted down and started pulling more and more darks out: a pair of jeans, some red pyjama bottoms, a multitude of socks. Basically things that I would never dream of throwing in with a load of whites, which I was sure is what I had prepared to wash!

And then I spotted it—a flash of white!

I pulled out Andrew's Sunday shirt (and more and more whites).

Sure enough, this poor washing machine was very full because I had not noticed that it was already occupied when I went to start my load. Andrew had started a load of darks the previous day and had forgotten to finish it, so I washed a load of whites with the load of darks that he'd started.

You know what they say: too many launderers spoils the laundry!

Fortunately, nothing terrible seems to have happened to those intermingling clothes, so perhaps my non-sorting friends have a point: sorting laundry is simply a time-wasting ploy.

But I'm probably going to keep doing it...

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