Wishful, Washful Thinking

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?