rinse, wash, repeat

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now i wouldn’t call myself a domestic diva by any means (i’m pretty sure to hold that title you have to bake pies from scratch and use lemons down your garbage disposal to make the kitchen smell like citrus, or at least subscribe to martha stewart living magazine. and i, i do not do any of these), but i’d like to think i’ve at least mastered the basics: keeping a clean house (thank goodness for the mighty swiffer), doing the dishes allowing the dishwasher to handle the dishes, lighting candles when guests come over so as to mask the scent of burned vegetables (you say “burnt”, i say “perfectly roasted”), and of course, laundry.

yes laundry. now i’ve spoken about laundry before. but it was to lament over the fact that my washing machine broke once and i was all but a pile of nerves and whines as a result. this story about laundry, or more specifically, the lack there of, takes us back to 24255 pacific coast highway, malibu, ca 92063 and to the f suite of pauley dorm at pepperdine university. because there, ladies and gentlemen, was where i went an entire year without every doing laundry. now please don’t take this out of context. there is no way that even i, clothes horse extraordinaire, could go an entire nine months (collegiate year, not calendar year) without washing a single item of apparel. what i mean to say is that though we had functioning washer and dryers in the basement of our respective dorms, i never once visited them to launder my pre-worn garments. that’s right, call me lazy, call me spoiled, call me smart for not wanting to stick my clothes into some public washing bin for fear of what had been swimming around in there before me?; call me all of those things and more, because they are all pretty accurate to describe my freshman year strategy. because instead of washing my own clothing, and putting in the time to earn that domestic diva title i’m still vying after today, i simply planned strategic visits home where my fabulous mother would graciously wash (and fold!) up to two-month’s worth of laundry without even batting an eyelash. i know. and no, she doesn’t hire out. and yes, she’s awesome.

the only way, and i mean only way, i was able to accomplish this fete was by heeding the advice of one of my mother’s girlfriends (who also had a college-aged daughter a few years older than me) prior to my pepperdine send-off.

and side note, enough of those “what you’ll need for college” lists that bed, bath and beyond and target distribute to trick you into thinking you need shower curtains and some sort of cooking device for your freshman dorm. if your college is anything like pepperdine, you’ll soon realize that the showers are shared by upwards of eight girls (so there’s no room for personal touches like that ikea flower curtain that conveniently matched all of your bedding) and that hot plates, candles and basically anything that has the potential to catch fire and/or burn (microwaves and hair straighteners are ironically okay) are not only frowned upon, but straight up illegal (and by illegal, i mean if you’re caught with them public safety will come and do a full investigation which will probably only resort in a fine of some sort, but still, you’ll totally be the rebel of the dorm, but maybe you’re looking to be crowned that title?). so yeah, those lists are kind of silly. the best advice you can receive is from the ones to walk those hallowed halls before you. the best advice givers for what it is you’re supposed to cram into your parent’s station wagon with as you transport your entire life (at least what you’ve collected for the past 18 years) to [insert college town of choice here] are the college students themselves.

so when my mom’s girlfriend offered up a few words of wisdom with regards to my pre-leave-for-college check list, we listened. which brings me back my point about laundry. the reason i was able to go almost 60 days without scrubbing those duds myself was the fact that i was sent to college with an abnormally high count of underwear. because let’s be honest, aside from needing a clean pair of spandex crops or lycra tank to get my tuck on upwards of five times a week, the only time i do laundry even now, eight years later, is when my supply of brightly colored hanky panky’s is running low. i know, you did not think we’d be discussing undergarments on this thursday afternoon, but as a former college freshman, i felt as though it was my civic duty to let every senior in their last semester of high school know that instead of asking for money, gift cards, plane tickets to exotic locales for their high school graduation gifts, they should really just ask for one thing.

underwear.

that and shower shoes, by gosh, get yourself a pair or five. no one, i repeat no one, should have to suffer through public shower tile to bare foot contact. ever.

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