March 8, 2010
This date represents the finale to my greatest nightmare: the laundromat. As of today, I have a washer and a dryer in the house. My two shiny warriors, who have waited ever so patiently in the basement since Black Friday, are at this very moment, happily humming away three weeks worth of grime. I feel serene.
I am grateful. What would we have done these past four months without Launderland and the ever so modest Elmwood Laundry? These being my mats of choice. I would hit up Launderland if I was feeling grouchy, it's closest to home and I could fool myself into thinking I could get it done quickly. It's proximity to Bakesale Betty is an alluring plus, although the line is usually longer than a wash. Elmwood was chosen if time was less of an issue—stopping by Nabolom Bakery in hopes of catching the jug band, or simply strolling down College Ave. to pretend I was having a leisurely Sunday.
Which couldn't be further from the truth. I was in hell. Absolute turmoil. Every single time. Ask Mike. I'd turn into a frown and a grumble all day until it was over, precious hours lost. I despise the laundromat, and there is little that I'll miss.
Except of course, the excuse to purchase a guilt-free Big Gulp at the adjoining 7-11.