First you open the washer, only to find a wet load still in there. Is it old enough to be musty and needing a vinegar rinse? No, I’m lucky this time – Mom had put it in the night before. But I reach in to transfer it to the dryer, and find out I’m not so lucky after all.
I pulled a towel out with effort. The jeans wouldn’t come at all. Mom had put in a mixed load, and when I say mixed, I mean every type and state of clothing and fabric imaginable.
The sweater arms and one leg of the jeans were tied like an inept boy scout’s knots. A pair of nylons wound its way in and out of everything, strings from the dog’s fleece throw tangled with bra straps and eight-inch lengths of ribbon-and-velcro fasteners for my dad’s catheter tube. To top it off, the apron he wears when he eats had not only tied its strings into every piece of fabric in there, tighter than those of a neurotic mother, but the loop to go around his neck had somehow gotten over the agitator and trapped underneath.
It was worse than a Gordian knot, and I couldn’t even pull it out of the machine because of the apron strings. I spent fifteen l-o-n-g minutes bent over, working loose first one thing (the dog throw) and then another (a sweater with, somehow, only one arm entangled), and then cussing up a storm gently working until the nylons came free, the bra worked into a recognizable shape, and the apron strings finally permitted themselves to be freed.
The jeans leg unwound from another sweater, the shirt sleeves disentangled from each other, and the rest came easy.
Fine. Move on. Nylons and bra over the towel rack, the rest in the dryer, and I’m done. Until the dryer *twitch* eats its inevitable sock.
I wrote the above in January, but laundry never changes, does it? What tangles your sanity, laundry or otherwise?