Dirty Laundry

I have a dirty little secret: I've always enjoyed doing the laundry. As a child, I never washed my own clothes. I'd plop my stuff into an upstairs "hamper," which was a wooden closet next to our split level 3/2's master bathroom, and, miraculously, a few days later, clean clothes would appear back in my closet and chest of drawers. It was great to have a magical mother.

I learned to do my own wash in college. The dorms had communal machines, and I always seemed to meet folks while we did our clothes. There was one time, this Venezuelan girl took my stuff out of the dryer so she could put her lace lingerie in, but I forget what else happened...

Ha! As if! The truth is, I used to enjoy the sense of completion when I did my wash. There was a beginning, middle, and end. This was so unlike much of the rest of life.

Well, over the past 20 years or so, I rarely did my own laundry. Our housekeeper Miriam does the wash, and my work shirts get sent out to the dry cleaners. Miriam does a serviceable job, but I've lost several articles over the years to her prodigious use of bleach. I actually kept one pair of blue, canvas shorts that she turned into one with white and purple streaks --it reminded me of the tie-die stuff from the 60s.

It was convenient to have my laundry done, but like most tasks one doesn't do for himself, I lost out. I took my clean clothes for granted.

So, a few weeks ago, given my diminished work schedule, I took to the machines again. We have a pair of cool, hi tech laundry machines (I don't know that they're called washer and dryer anymore) and I fired up those babies.

I NEVER liked ironing, so my t shirts got plucked out of the washer and hung on a line in the garage, while my dress shirts still get sent out, but for the rest of the stuff --it was all my work.

I had forgotten how much I enjoyed the smell of cotton garments fresh out of the dryer. Why should Miriam get all the sensual delight of that experience, of folding my still hot briefs and socks? (Is this the height of male ego here, or what?).

So, as I type, my shirts are drying in the garage, and my underwear and socks are twirling and hurling under high heat. Soon I 'll hear the "ready" signal, and pluck them out, smell the warmth, and fold them and put them away.

No matter how much time I waste at the office later, and how little good I do as a bored lawyer, at least I'll have the satisfaction of a completed task today.