The Wild World of Laundry

3 06 2007

Frequently when I got to switch the laundry over from the washer to dryer, I’m astonished to see what has happened in the machine. Things become twisted, knotted, interwoven. I’ve found the agitator wearing my shirts as if it were ready for a night out on the town. Once, I even found a pair of my pants wearing a pair of my wife’s underwear, how extraordinary is that? The biggest culprit is my wife’s bras. They twist up like a tornado, they penetrate and bind the laundry like The Force, the straps tie themselves up into intricate sailors knots. I don’t know how they do what they do.

I can imagine a Pixar film about the secret life of laundry. The washer lid closes and the clothing all comes alive. The water fills and they are able to move and dance and caress each other in the swirling soapy vortex. Maybe they get loopy off the laundry detergent. I can imagine how under the influence of Purex the Bras (oh those bras) become Sadomasochistic villains. They would have a deep, husky Cruella DeVille voice and whip the laundry into submission. They would use their long reach to tie up the shirts in dominatrix fashion.   Meanwhile, it’s a disco throughout the rest of the washer–a drug-induced orgy of fabric delights (…not very Pixar, I guess).  Maybe, just maybe, though, not everyone is into the party and threatening to ruin it for everyone else. The socks.  The socks are quiet and timid, just-say-no-drug-free-puritans and some of them want to blow the whistle or maybe just get out alive.  This is why socks disappear.  They find their opportunity and fall between washers or cling to the back or shirts and look for a chance to drop to safety.  Or maybe the bras have gotten word of their dastardly plan to break silence and inform us of the cotton debauchery going on behind their backs and make the socks quietly “go away”.

Maybe, maybe this all happens.  Or maybe the twisting back and forth action of the agitator just gets everything kind of twisted up.  That could be it, but I’d like to think that laundry time is disco time.