On two separate occasions this week it was reported to me that two individuals to whom I am related, hadn't, for a brief amount of time, been wearing any underwear as there were none clean to be found in our home. Since I'm a glass-is-half-full kinda gal, I chose, at that moment, rather in those moments, to count their --- condition as a plus, relieved that my less-than-totally-dressed family hadn't instead chosen to don a pair of dirty underwear, as surely it is more hygienic to be without.
It's been a busy week juggling Bible school and softball practices and I could rest my dignity right there except that I had no official VBS responsibilities this year and had only to drive to softball practice once. The washing machine churns and spins even as I type, but I've discovered that I'm down to what is probably two loads worth of laundry detergent, three if I balance the detergent jug upside down for an hour or so to catch the last dribbles which line the bottom. Those dribbles, I tell myself, though piddling in amount are certainly more potent than the detergent higher up in the jug, having gained cleaning power as time has passed, sitting there on top of the dryer day after day concentrating.
Regardless, I'll be running out of detergent way before all of the laundry is clean and I'm not relishing a trip to the grocery in the middle of a lazy summer day just to get detergent. The obvious solution, therefore, is laundry triage which calls for the laundry lady to attempt to prioritize just which clothes her family members will need before the dreaded trip to purchase more detergent is accomplished. Underwear sits at the top of the list but then comes the quandary because summertime's wardrobe rules are simply non-existent.
On any given summer morning ...
...you will find the adults and children of this residence clad in all manner of finery,
from prairie skirts for playing hopscotch,
... to princess and knight attire for capturing the castle.
From swim suites on the front lawn for a damp day of water games to bleary-eyed early-risers taking to the side porch for breakfast in PJs.
There are also the regular shorts and tank tops which find themselves in high wardrobe rotation.
Not to be forgotten is the load of "work out" attire ...
and softball uniforms...
which, left in the laundry pile long enough, will take more than one cycle through the washer to achieve complete freshness.
It was out of this particular laundry pile that I discovered a string of red plastic monkeys making what appeared to be a daring escape.
Molly had been here before me, it seemed, and apparently she and her little red monkey friends had decided to do what I had been doing all week...running from the laundry.
When you are four years old, leaving the scene of a stinky mess and abandoning your monkeys in the laundry basket is quite understandable. When you are forty, doing the same thing is less excusable. In both cases however, result is the same...
...lots of monkeys with no underwear to speak of.
I'm off now to help those poor red fellas back into their barrel and to put a load of you-know-whats into the washer! Wishing you a happy summer week packed with full jugs of laundry detergent and empty baskets of laundry...with or without the monkeys!
“I've buried a lot of my laundry in the back yard.”
― Phyllis Diller
― Phyllis Diller