Column for Monday, 4/9 - Sun Ra
Well, I moved my fiance in with me last week, and today I did my first batch of mixed laundry. Yes, notch up some of those "progressive male" points for me, baby. I cook, too.
At any rate, I was hitting the "underwear that really needs to be thrown out" section of my underwear drawer, so I busted out the rolls of quarters (no, I'm happy to see you, honest) and spent the last several hours leading our clothes in the complex dance from laundry bin to washing machine and from drier to bed - and thence to hanger or drawer.
Yeah, that was one sentence. All the best paragraphs are.
Of course, this wasn't a full-on mixed laundry. I'd say that 85% of it was mine - I'm not sure what she's done with hers, but my suspicion is that she's taken it to her mom's to do. And wisely so. I susbscribe to the popular guy theory of "survival of the fittest" when it comes to laundry. It all goes in the washer, it all goes in the drier, and if some namby-pamby items of clothing can't handle the heat, well, they weren't manly enough to be worn anyways. The gentle cycle is for wimps and homos. Which may explain why they are generally better dressed.
My fiance, like most women, just rolls her eyes at this and carefully hides her dirty clothes when she sees me in the grey underwear with the strings hanging off. This time she forgot a few pairs of pantyhose and at least one nice dress, but I thoughtfully removed those before they could be subjected to the savage Darwinian testing that is my laundering.
I did wash a substantial number of her panties, though. And, in fact, it was my folding and putting these away which inspired this column. This was because, by sheer happenstance, each pair of panties I handled was smaller than the last. At first I was merely bemused, but as I worked through the large, warm, clean-smelling pile on the bed, the size of her underwear kept dwindling and dwindling until I found myself trying to fold up garments which were no bigger than a regulation size eyepatch. I could have taken eight of them and made a handkerchief.
Sure, she's a small woman, but she's not that small. Oh, I'm not complaining - I think hot women *should* have clothes that look painted on. In fact, at some point I hope to sign legislation to that effect. But it's just weird when you hold up a garment and cannot picture a human body actually fitting inside it. A garment which is more clearly designed to hold tea leaves while they are being steeped or something.
The underwear ain't the end of it, either - I've noticed this phenomenon while shopping, too. Dresses in the women's section (no, not for me. Sheesh.) that clearly are too small for anyone save perhaps Kate Moss, and yet are then taken by normal size women and worn. And while being worn they look normal. Only when removed do these clothes shrink back to their Lilliputian dimensions.
It's got to be some special fabric. Not just stretchy, but something that magically expands when a human wears it. Body heat or some chemical reaction with skin or something. Yeah, that has to be it. Of course, I will never get to wear any of it.
It would never survive my laundry.
P.S. The image of steeping tea using women's underwear is for Lictor.