Lament of the Laundress

I am a terrible laundress.  (Note to self: later look up the masculine form of "laundress".)  I have a terrible track record of removing stains and odors, ruining garments which belong to others, and losing socks.  This last problem may not be unique to me.  Allow me to offer up evidence to my claim.

In the previous century, my mom and I travelled to Australia.  One of highlights of the trip was when we went to the Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary in Brisbane and we got to cuddle a koala.  Well, I cuddled the koala.  His name was Russell.  You hold a koala in much the same way you would hold a child - its legs aim to go around you and you put one hand on its back and one hand under its smelly little bottom.  I can say this with confidence because of what happened as a result of the cuddling.  Before I tell you what happened, I want to assure you that no matter how soft and cuddly koalas look, they aren't.  If you have ever pet a sheep with the expectation of sinking your hand into soft, fluffy fur, and then were disappointed, you know the sensation of petting a koala.  They are kind of sticky and greasy, probably because of eating about a pound of eucalyptus every day.  If you have never touched a sheep, take my word for it.  Back to the story.

When we got back to our hotel, or probably even before that, I discovered that there was an invisible, odiferous spot on my shirt, exactly where Russell's smelly underside had perched.  Luckily for me, we had a washing machine available to us, so I put together a load of clothes.  My mom threw some of her things in as well.  I accept the blame for what transpired next, although I am sure you will agree with me that I was in no way responsible.  When the clean clothes came out of the dryer, my shirt was bright and clean.  Mom's shirt did not come out in such pristine condition.  In fact, it was decidedly less fresh than when it began the laundering process.  Somehow, the malodorous spot had transferred from my shirt to hers.  It smelled like Russell's rump.  She has always maintained that I engineered it to turn out that way.  It's my laundress luck.

Another example of my ineptness happened many years later.  Girl6 had received a plush black fleece cardigan.  The hood, with which she was very enamored, was lined with what I can only refer to as white fur.  It was a pretty little number, and to a six year old it was the Bee's Knees.  (Note to self:  investigate the origins of that phrase.)  The day came when it was time to be washed for the first time.  I washed it in the "gentle" cycle.  It came out in one piece, so I happily tossed it with abandon into the dryer.  Sadly, it did not come out as the Bee's Knees.  The fur, which had been so fluffy and soft, had melted to itself in the dryer and emerged like wet cotton balls.  Girl6 was, and is still, furious with me, and, although the fleece still fits, she wears it only as a last resort.

Melting in the dryer seems to be my special talent.  Just yesterday I was washing the waterproof mattress pad.  You may not want to venture into the reasons why my mattress sports a waterproof mattress pad, but I will assure you it is nothing that you are thinking.  I cannot assume what the worst words for you to hear in the night would be, but for me, the most alarming words have been, "Mama!  I think I wet your bed!"  Immediately after being jolted awake by those words I bought myself a waterproof mattress pad.  Back to the story.

Of course I read the washing instructions, Suspicious Reader, I know enough to do that!  I followed them to the letter, washing on the "hand wash" cycle and using gentle detergent.  I checked to make sure it could go in the dryer, and the tag confirmed this.  Imagine my horror when I reached into the dryer and pulled out a big wad of fabric.  The waterproof part had stuck to itself in a crinkly mess.  I took it back to the bedroom and laid it on the bed the best that I could.  I tried to gently pull the wrinkles apart from one another.  As careful as I was, I tore a big hole in the waterproof fabric.  I ask you:  what use is a waterproof mattress pad if it has a hole in it?  I am embarrassed to tell you that this is, in fact, the second waterproof mattress pad that has melted to itself in the dryer.  You would think that I would have learned my lesson.

The sad ending to my story is that I really want to be an exceptional laundress.  I would love to know what magical formula to use on tomato sauce or strawberry stains, for how long to soak a grass stained knee, and which detergent will make my daughter's clothes smell like a summer breeze.  There are more laundry mysteries for me to ponder, but first I have to check on that electric blanket that I washed this morning.