Herban Sprawl

My pupil and I are reading Summer of My German Soldier. In one scene, Patty comes home to Ruth who is washing clothes with a wringer washer. There are generations of Americans who have no clue as to that rather crude saying, “Whatsa matter? Get yer tit caught in the wringer?” They have no idea what a wringer washer is. I had to make sketches and explain how one worked.

In those days, sorting laundry was taken to unbelievable lengths because the same tub of water was used for successive loads. If the first load got bleached, then the next loads got some, too. I tend to go in the opposite directions with my Maytag, simply because I don’t want the stray droplets to find their way onto something I don’t want bleached. The House Goddess cleans with bleach, so you can well imagine her work pants! She laughs about it. She brags that she even drank bleach as a child and lived to tell the tale!

And so, as I was on the second to last load of TBHG’s laundry today, I filled the tub with hot water, added a prodigious amount of bleach – I would have earned The House Goddess’s Seal of Approval – and then dumped in extra detergent. We are talking socks. We are talking strap undershirts  like old men with hairy ears used to wear outside at night while they tended their tomatoes in the 100 ° heat of the prairie evenings. I am here to tell you, I gave it my mother’s best tricks, and she was star launderer. Those clothes flapping on the clothesline were sparkling.

I came down to check. The wash water was the color of mud. It didn’t look good.

I came down when I heard the dryer go off, emptied it, and opened the washer. Ick. I had wanted to add more bleach, but I was afraid it would eat the knitting. I needn’t have worried. They looked just as bad as they had looked when I put them in. You’d never know I had even bothered.

I put on my handy dandy latex gloves and separated the old man undershirts from the socks and threw the socks into the dryer. The fact is, the old man undershirts did come out somewhat better in a second go-round with more bleach, but still not up to my pristine standards. When you consider how filthy and odoriferous all these things were to start with, there really is an improvement.

Some might wonder about the sanity of such an adventure, but there comes a time when a person has to stand up for what’s right. The Colonel was right when he advised to “never get into a pissing match with a skunk.” But no one should have to live with such a slatternly skunk in his/her midst, and especially not when the circumstances are driven by the forces of obstinacy for the sake of obstinacy. Sometimes it takes an outsider to call a spade a shovel and help that family get on with it.

Big Kitty has taken note of the gallons of water this has taken and suggested the price needs to be raised. Actually, I am pretty sure I’m washing these things for the Goodwill, so I’ll ask our tax guy if I can deduct a month’s water bill. If I write someone off, you better believe it’s because they belong in the File of Lost Causes.