So, I did laundry for the first time since leaving the US… now I know
how spoiled I have been my whole life. Not only did my mom do my
laundry for me until college, but once I was in college, I still had
the luxury of a washing machine. Not anymore.
My host mom took me out by the chicken coop and showed me how to fill
a bucket with hot water and another with rainwater. She went back to
the porch. I started scrubbing. She started laughing. To say the
least, it may take a few weeks before I'm an expert.
This hand washing business takes a lot more personal time, but I
really got to know my clothes better. For instance, I've had this
pair of Houston jeans for about a year. I love them. They are dark
blue and fit just right. They've gone through the wash dozens of times
and never caused any problems. Well, I guess they're more sensitive
than I realized. When I put them in my soapy bucket, suddenly the
liquid looked like the water traps at a putt putt course. You know
the kind: super-fake blue. I ignored it and kept scrubbing. The
jeans bled blue and shortly thereafter, I turned into a smurf. My
favorite jeans. I thought I knew every inch of them. But apparently,
they were hiding a large vat of ink in the seams.
Note to self: next time, save jeans for the end of the wash… they
make the water (and yourself) unbearably blue.
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