Jim's Confession

Being a Laundry Goddess I am privy to sundry confessions of my followers. They range from the humble who seek to unburden themselves about their lack of ability to perform a a laundry task to those whose confession is nothing more than a prideful presentation of their total mastery of cleaning clothes. Occasionally I am presented with a confession I feel I must share. To protect his privacy I will only use his first name. The following is Jim's confession.

I have been doing my own laundry since I was ten years old. Try to imagine the stares I received form the women at the Laundromat as I arrived on my bicycle with my bag of dirty laundry. I would navigate that typically female domain until I found an available washing machine. Ignoring the glares of the laundry ladies I would go about my business as though I knew exactly what I was doing. With my washer secured I  would then go to the soap dispenser to purchase detergent. I would stand peering through the plastic trying to decide which name brand laundry soap would be the right choice. Finally with exasperation I would just drop in my coins and randomly select one. I would then go back to my washer and then fear would set in. The fear of not having enough money for the washer and the dryer. I would frantically count all my change to see if I had enough to complete my laundry task.

With several poorly executed attempts I came to the realization I should first put the soap into the washer before adding my clothes. That was important knowledge because the result of placing clothes and then soap left lumps of soap stuck in the folds of my laundry.

While my clothes were washing I would ride my bicycle and search for coke bottles I could turn into spare change. Invariably I would find a few at the baseball park located behind the Laundromat. I would take my findings to the Lil' General Store next to the Laundromat and turn my bottles in for coin. That jingle in my pocket made me feel as though I could buy anything I wanted. I wasn't just a kid trying to do laundry. I was King of the Laundromat!

I would return to the Laundromat to check on my clothes. Usually by this time the number of women had dwindled down to one or two and that helped me feel less anxious. To transfer my clothes from one washer to the dryer I would grab one of those baskets with a clothes rack attached to it. I would position it in front of the dryer implying my temporary ownership of dryer and basket.
When the clothes were dry I would stuff my freshly laundered clothing into my bag. I would then hop on my bicycle and head home. My mission was complete or so I thought.

Once home invariably I would discover I was one sock short! How did this happen? I pictured the possiblility of a one legged man who would watch and wait to grab just one sock. Perhaps a sock consuming monster lived in the bottom of the washing machine with an appetite that could only be satisfied by one of my stockings. The dryer! Yes the dryer! That had to be it! It was in that warm moist world where the God of Hosiery resided. He demanded the first and cleanest sock be placed upon his heated altar.

I feel I shall never know what happened to my socks. It is just one of life's mysteries. What I do know is that a tender ten year old boy has grown into a mature adult man who knows how to do his own laundry.