laundry (lyn)

I hate doing laundry in NY. 

But when I’m visiting my parents, I actually enjoy it.  The laundry room (well, actually a corner in my parent’s basement) houses everything I need (the detergent, the stain remover, the dryer sheets, and even an ironing board and iron, all set up, should I be so inclined).  I like the whole experience.  Really.

But not here.  The process for doing laundry when I’m home is both laborious and expensive.  First, I have to get my laundry card, then find money to put on the card, grab the laundry detergent, and finally, bag the laundry itself.  Then, I lug it all down to the basement where the machines are.  Each machine is $2.75.  So two small loads (one white, one colored) costs $11.  I need to separate the clothes, load the card with money and then hope the machine doesn’t eat the card, put in the detergent, and start the machines.  Then, 45 minutes later, I need to do the same with the clothes when I put them in the dryers.  And then finally, I need to go down a third time and lug everything back upstairs. 

This morning I need to wash all Alexander’s gamy football clothes.   I bring everything I need down to the basement.   While there, and facing all the steps ahead of me, I decide to bring his clothes across the street to the cleaners where they also take in and do laundry. 

I have on no makeup.  An old favorite baby-doll styled white top.  Black yoga pants.  And a jean jacket.  Not my best look.  I go to the cleaners where I haven’t been in a while and the friendly owner greets me.  He weighs my clothes and I prepay him $10 (cheaper and easier than doing it myself).  Then he looks at me, and hesitantly asks, in broken Chinese-English, “Did you lose a lot of weight?”  I tell him I have and he adds, “I almost didn’t recognize you.  You look so much younger.”

Who knew doing laundry could be so rewarding?