My Trip To The Laundromat

Last Thursday, on my day to meet the Pioneer Woman, my dryer up and died on me. Well, not literally on me, but still. It quit heating up inside, therefore not drying my clothes and towels in a timely manner.

I did what any one of you would do: I cursed a little and shoved all the wet stuff into the car and drove to the laundromat. It has been a long time since I've seen the inside of a laundromat. My dryer is seventeen years old, so it's been at least seventeen years since I've Fluffed N' Folded.

At first, I was impressed. It only cost seventy-five cents to wash a load of clothes! I don't know why, but this seemed like a good price to me. Then I discovered that it cost a jaw-dropping two-fifty to dry the clothes. For thirty minutes. Any longer than that and you had to cough up another two-fifty.

I did what any one of you would do: I cursed a little and shoved both loads of wet clothing into one dryer, dropped in ten quarters, and hoped they'd be dry-ish in thirty minutes because I refused to run next door to the ATM to withdrawal more cash to feed the dryer.

Once the laundry was happily tumbling around in hot air, I noticed that I, ahem, didn't exactly blend into my surroundings at the laundromat.

For example, I popped into Subway on my way into town for a six inch turkey sub on wheat with lots of spinach, cucumbers, green peppers, mayo, salt, and pepper. And a large unsweetened iced tea. The other patrons were eating lunch at the 'mat as well, only their choices seemed to come from the convenience store across the street and leaned more towards the Super Big Gulp and teriyaki beef jerky end of the food spectrum.

I believe fresh spinach is opposite on the food wheel from a Super Big Gulp and teriyaki beef jerky.

In short, I did not blend. My food did not blend. There were whispers and stares.

And I was dressed in my 'Meet the Pioneer Woman' garb of freshly pressed khaki capris with a lovely print blouse. I actually had on makeup. My hair was fluffed. I smelled decent. The other patrons were in jammie bottoms and tank tops with holes in the straps. They had on no makeup and their hair was not fluffed. (It should be noted that this, too, is how I am usually dressed on laundry day and I am not passing judgement).

But not this day. I was meeting Ree Drummond today and I looked somehow pulled together.

In short, I did not blend. My outfit did not blend. There were whispers and stares.

After my clothes were done in the dryer, I took them out and quietly began folding them. A woman in her early twenties came up to me and we had the following conversation.

Her: So … you like fold your stuff? That's messed up.
Me: Yeah, I'm a folder. What do you do with your stuff?
Her: Shove it back in the bag, get back home, and dump it on the floor.
Me: Dude, that's messed up. You gotta fold your stuff. Otherwise it looks like you are wearing a shirt you slept in.
Her (laughing): You sound like my mom!
Me: Hey! Hurtful!
Her: Oh, she's waaaaaaaay older than you. She's forty-one.

Hons, I am thirty-nine. And a half. Pin It Now!