WISHFUL, WASHFUL THINKING
Well, I'm in college now. It's been just a little over a week, but
it feels like a long, long time.
That's not to say that it's been boring, for if there is one thing
that college has not been, it would not be absolutely inaccurate to describe it
as having been boring.
The fundamental problem here is that a majority of this time has
been spent in the washroom. Time spent not, as one would ordinarily expect, in
washing oneself, but rather in the process of doing one's laundry.
Laundry is one of those chores that, for the first seventeen years
of my life, did not even remotely classify as a chore, owing to the invention
of that appliance known as a washing machine, a device that I have now come to
revere with an astonishing level of respect.
Sadly, I have now come to learn that the washing machine is not,
in fact, an essential contraption, and that there does exist an alternate
mechanism for getting used clothes transformed into a reusable state. By
hand.
Now this is an awful lot of work, so in the interests of humanity,
I shall proceed to highlight the intricate series of steps in the process of
laundering.
Step one is severe rationalization, wherein one performs a
scrutionus examination of each and every article of clothing with the help of
that useful organ known as the nose, in order to determine whether or not the
particular garment under consideration can be employed for "just one more
time" - a euphemism for "until some coffee spills on it".
Step two is denial, wherein one desperately tries to eliminate
clothes from the "to-wash" pile for a second, and generally
unsuccessful, time.
Step three is acceptance, wherein one plunges into depression on
being confronted with a mountain of dirty garments which would, if it had a
mouth, scream and plead for mercy and deliverance from the sweat and grime
slowly altering the very fabric of its existence. Pun intended.
Step four is where we finally come to the actual washing - a
painstaking, repulsive and particularly aggravating process during the course
of which the washer loses his mind and eventually, his willingness to
live.
Step five is my personal favourite, wherein one emerges from the
washroom triumphant, with a wide grin plastering the face that, until very recently,
had upon it a look implying suicidal tendencies,
God, things would be so much simpler with a washing machine,
wouldn't they?
