I love Laundromats. Well, maybe love is an overly strong word; but I definitely don’t despise them. Last night our year-old washer started making a sound that no washer should ever, ever make. Of course, I was one load into a marathon wash session and it was the Saturday of Labor Day weekend. You see where I’m going, right? There will be no cranky, butt-crack showin’ knight on a white horse to save me for at least three or four days. Since my family, okay the adults, have this “thing” about clean underwear, I loaded up and headed here, to our local Laundromat.
I think all Laundromats hire the same decorator. Neutral wallpaper, banged up paint job, a carpet that has seen such better days….it’s not much unlike the laundry we used to go to when I was a newlywed. Back then, we used to go. Now it’s just me. At night. Alone. With the boogeymen. Yeah, maybe 8:00 on a dark rainy night was not the best time. But I digress.
The thing I love about coming here, though, is the fact that in one fell swoop, I can knock out 8, count ‘em, 8 loads of laundry. No all day bending and folding. No clean clothes lying wrinkly in the basket on my couch while I get distracted by shiny things. Just one shot of washing, drying and folding. If they weren’t so expensive, I might actually consider coming here on a regular basis.
Without the boogeyman.