My vacation gave me lots to report, but while I pre-digest it all for literary regurgitation, allow me to say: doing laundry rocks. I actually enjoy it. It’s supposedly a major chore, but the machine does the hard part.
When I was a wee bit lassie, my great-grandma was still doing her laundry in the two-vat hand-crank machine that was in her garage, hanging it all up to dry, and then pressing any garment with special bits, such as ruching, pintucks, cuffs, and collars. My era had spandex and sneered at polyester…but think of what a godsend polyester must have been to women who had to iron every got-dang thing in their white cotton world.
Here’s to you, ladies. I raise my cup of coffee to your endurance, and your raw red hands.