Lights And Darks

First of all, I fully acknowledge and sympathize with any (am I being optimistic with this self-indulgent preface?) groans in reaction to this incredibly pedestrian subject matter. I myself can't believe I'm writing about this... although it was such a meaningful experience!! I'm not however going to do the thing where I talk about what it means that we're finally on our own, with our own responsibilities, and how doing laundry is this great metaphor for the (baby) steps I and my peers are taking every day on our steady collegiate path to adulthood. No. No metaphors. Laundry is fucking laundry. It will always be just laundry. But some funny antics still went down... at least in my mind. So let's get this show on the road because I still have to do my Russian homework. 

As a dude (and self-proclaimed aficionado of appropriate dude conduct), few things give me more enjoyment than witnessing my boys poke their heads into each other's room and ask, "Yo, you do laundry yet?" Professionality is the key to this interrogation. Serious and/or businesslike demeanor is critical to a successful transaction. One motherfucker breaks character and the whole operation is shot to hell. The response is usually a slow head-turn in the direction of the hamper and a weighty nod, followed by something in the general ballpark of, "No." If we're really getting comfortable here, there might even be the follow-up "Are we doing this thing?" You know the answer. What would Bret and Jermaine say? I don't even have to say it.

So here we are. Four dudes. Trekking down the hallway, all simultaneously without speech trying to indivicually decide the best way to carry his respective hamper. Some are whipping the shapeless mesh sack. Others have upgraded to the deluxe foldable hamper. Tension quickly accumulates when an observation is made in my direction - "Dude, we have the same hamper."

I know. I know. I know. I fuckin' know.

"Oh... hey yeah wow. I guess we do." Tension quickly disappears as a brethren halts the pack. An idea has so been had.

"Should we... get a girl?"

WHAM. No one knows what to say. Utter silence. No one in their right mind is going to say that it's a bad idea. But would anyone be willing to take that giant androgenous leap for dudekind and sponser this revolutionary proposition? The perpetrator is quick to justify his suggestion - 

"I mean, she said, like, she would help us when we did laundry." 

This new piece of information elicits grim nods and solemn "mmm's" from the dudes. The decision is made to recruit a neighboring X X chromosome. After the customary hasty sexism accusations are made, our group of five makes the epic elevator descent to what I am now calling the Tide dungeon. 

I didn't even think that was that funny myself.

Boy am I glad we decided to grab a girl -- not only because she was someone who could help answer the ridiculous questions that boys spoiled by years of mommying could come up with -- but also because it must have just been really fun for her to witness such bald-faced domestic naivete. We had nooo friggen clue what we were doing in there (for the most part). Here's a sampling of the shit that we were too stupid to repress in the presence of a female:

 

"Do I put the fabric softener in the washing machine?"

"Do I have to separate the lights and darks in the dryer?"

"What the fuck is perm press?"

"What if it's a striped shirt?"

"Yo, do you have a delicates bag? Ok. Do I need one you think?"

"So I just fill it up to the line?"

"38 minutes?!"

"Do I have to stand here and guard it?"

"Is this a wool sock?"

 

Ah... college. In the end, laundry was a success. I had neat little piles on my bed. They were like my children. Folding laundry is kind of like reverse foreplay, isn't it? Everything all laid out... all the work has been done, but you still need to stand there and fold shit. It's weird. That was kind of a weird connection to make. But yeah, in the end it was a success. I had been looking forward to the shenanigans of dorm life for a long time before I got to college, so if something as by definition lame as doing laundry with other people gets my blood going as it did on that fateful night, then parties/actual socializing will probably blow my face off. People rule. 

P.S. Tide-to-Go -- one product which absolutely requires you to say its name in its entirety. No compromises, no hip nominal alternatives. You're using a specially-designed detergent pen to get that highlighter stain off your shirt. Give in to the corporate enslavement. It's called Tide-to-Go, and it shall always be referred to as such.