Zachary

The band

The other band

Cooking stuff (temporarily inactive...)

 
I love pockets. Really I do. But they trick me every time. It's like our cats. Well, Harvey really. No matter how conscious we are to cat-proof our laundry, he still manages to trot down the stairs with a pair of my underwear in his mouth.

That's how I feel about pockets. I do most of the laundry washing in the house and I try, I swear I do, I try to empty the pockets before dumping the clothes in. A couple weeks ago I left a tube of chapstick in my pocket and it made its way to the dryer. Melted wax everywhere. As you can imagine, most of the clothes were demoted to "around the house" or thrown away altogether. Gotta make a better effort to check pockets or I might get fired (a not-so-original way to get out of chores).

Today is laundry day. I checked the pockets. Load one produced a tube of lipstick in the bottom of the washing machine (not the dryer thank goodness). "Grrrr" I said. Ok, you got me. I only checked the "used" pockets forgetting I stowed that lipstick in my stupid cargo pocket on the knee which I otherwise never use. Load two, I methodically checked pockets. In transferring the clothes from washer to dryer, damn it if a tissue didn't sneak through and shred all over. Oh, and 2 hair barrets in the bottom of the washer for good measure. "bleep, bleep, bleep" I said. Hmmm, there was a bathrobe in there. Maybe I missed a pocket. Or checked the same pocket twice? Maybe I should install video surveillance?

The end result is the same. I can't take it anymore. I'm only washing socks!
posted by hbt at 4:29 PM