Washerwoman

There is always washing. I can get to the very bottom of the washing pile and have it all washed but before that last dry item is even put away someone has re-covered the bottom of the basket. The other day I found myself yelling from the laundry, “Who keeps wearing stuff?” A somewhat cathartic but completely pointless complaint!  This week is busy with medical things and school things and assorted appointments but it doesn’t stop clothing being soiled, towels used, bedding being, well lets not be too delicate…weed upon (as in “to wee” not the unwanted garden variety).

For those of you who care for a young person who has continence issues or tube feeds or reflux or (as in our illustrious situation) all three,  you get it! If you are less familiar with these murky depths imagine this. Newborn babies (between cute snuggles) produce and expunge enough bodily fluids to regularly fill a Hills hoist with delicate little outfits…and sheets and blankets. Now double, no triple the size of the clothes and the volume of said fluids. Voila. A washerwoman’s delight, or is that nightmare? For even the famous Mr Toad questioned the dress of a washerwoman, “But don’t you think it makes me look a bit dowdy?”(*) as he used the disguise to escape jail. I am sure there are many of us who feel bound by the chains of the washing basket.

Now I would like to contemplate the lack of the word washerman…..but I can’t. There’s a load to finish hanging and more to fold!

 

Please note….my frustration can be high but I complain in a light-hearted way as I am very aware of this being a first world problem.

 

(*) Mr Toad lives in Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

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