|Hi, I have no soul, but I bet I can get you to make a trip to the Confessional.|
At any rate, in my most productive days of yesteryear, I was cranking out two loads on a good day, and patting myself smugly on the back for being so on top of our family's wardrobe needs that we could get by with pretty basic and modest-sized layettes, every one of us.
Well, our wardrobes are definitely smaller now, (and not just because the US dollar is a contestant on the Biggest Loser beside the mighty Jillian Michaels Euro) because I have dyed many, many costly and beloved items a putrid shade of green and a sickening shade of burgundy over the past 3 months.
|. That's one of Dave's $50 Jos A Bank permanent press dress shirts, stained with the hideous remains of an Italian bath towel and the salty tears of regret.|
Definitely not; surprisingly, no; and just about.
The first week we arrived in Italy, I very unwisely laundered a load of our own clothing with some towels belonging to our rental apartment. Not yet acquainted with the phenomenon of buying ones linens from filthy street vendors featuring nicotine-scented bath towels and duvet covers, I wrongly assumed that colored items were permanently thus. But alas, no. A green bath towel, tossed in with a load of colored polos, t-shirts, and pants, will not hesitate to pollute it's drum-mates with its detestable hue.
After weeping over a few truly ruined baby boy sweater vests (sob. the grief is still fresh), I made the heart wrenching decision to toss the truly hideous colored victims to the curb...but not everything that was affected looked completely awful. This turned out to be an unwise move, but one whose ramifications I would not fully grasp until yesterday afternoon, when the above-pictured dress shirt disaster occurred.
You see, gentle reader, I ought to have tossed the whole lot of crappy green-hued items after the initial contamination, and not just because they all looked awful, but because the few stragglers who made the cut to the 'keep' pile have, apparently, been slowly poisoning our remaining wardrobes these past few months. A green sock here, a green polka-dotted thong there...they kept popping up, but in mysteriously and otherwise unaffected loads of wash. Why oh why wasn't everything turning green? Why only some things?
I actually don't have an answer for that. But I do have an impressive cache of weapons employed in the losing battle of looking like a family of hideously-under dressed foreigners:
|Most of my 'stash.' Each purchased at a different store. I can quit any time.|
You would never know I spend 1-2 hours each day fighting with this guy, spinning the dials into new positions and experimenting with different water temperatures and product combinations. Y'all, I'm half expecting to accidentally build a bomb in our laundrybathroom.
|Woe is me, suffering the indignities of laundry drying over my marble floors and (IKEA) Persian rug.|
Ciao for now,
(p.s. I thought it worth mentioning that I literally set a pot of rice on fire during the crafting of this post, and that my beautiful little sister Lizzie gave birth to 7 lbs of delicious girlyness this morning at 3:45 am in the form of Miss Charlotte Therese. So I clearly have deeper domestic issues than laundry, and who even cares, because weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee for new babies, and the first ladybaby in our family in 18 years!)