Laundry
“Lee Stetson, why in the world is this good shirt in the trash?”
Lee eyed the stained white shirt his wife held up. “It’s stained. Ruined. I figured it’d be best to toss it.” He pointed to the offending spot. Damn. He should’ve taken the trash outside, and then she’d never have found it.
“Did you do any laundry while mother and I were gone for the week? Or did you just let it pile up?” Amanda opened the door to the laundry room.
Lee cringed at what he knew she’d find. He’d thrown all the dirty clothes in one huge pile, telling himself he’d take it all to the cleaners before she returned. After all, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. But things hadn’t worked out like he’d anticipated, and he’d forgotten about them.
“You weren’t going to do the laundry, were you? I bet you were going to take them to the dry cleaners. I know you, Stetson. You probably don’t even know how to turn the washing machine on. It’s a good thing the boys weren’t here; otherwise, this pile would be ten times larger.”
Lee knew a dare when he heard one. Okay, so he’d never done his own laundry before. Someone always did it for him, or he sent it out. But how hard could it be to wash some clothes? “Yes, I can, and I’ll prove it to you.”
“What about this?” She held up the stained shirt.
“I’ll get the stain out, too.” He could hear the challenge in her voice and see it written all over her face. Well, he’d show her--he hoped. Then he caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror Amanda had hung above the folding table--and he saw the doubt reflected in his eyes. No, he could do it. He smirked into the mirror.
“Don’t forget to pre-treat the stain. Mother, the boys, and I are going to the grocery store. What did you eat all week? There’s nothing in the frig.”
Lee glanced down at the floor. “I, umm . . .”
“Never mind, I know. You ate out. We’ll be back as soon as we can. You start the laundry.” She handed him the shirt and kissed him good-bye.
Lee shoved all the clothes into the washer. Looking up, he found himself confronted by an array of cleansers. Detergents for colors, whites, stain removers, bleach, and fabric softeners. He plucked the bottle of stain remover off the shelf.
After smoothing the shirt out, he opened the bottle and squirted some of the liquid onto the stain. Nothing happened. Maybe he should read the directions. Hell, what could be so complicated? He picked up the shirt and rubbed the liquid into the fabric, then threw it into the washer with the other clothes.
Now, detergent. Which one should he use? The washer was stuffed with whites and colors. Maybe he’d better use a little bit of both. And, in case the stain didn’t come out with that Shout stuff, he added a generous amount of bleach.
He closed the lid and studied the controls. Permanent press, delicates, and regular were on one knob. Hot, warm, and cold were written on another, and small, medium, or large on a third. Okay, the last one was easy; he’d crammed the washer full, so he turned the knob to large. Since hot water would get things the cleanest, he switched the dial to hot.
Lee stood back for a moment and contemplated the last control. Well, the clothes weren’t delicate, so he eliminated that choice. He had no idea what the hell “permanent press” meant, so he turned the knob to regular. When he pushed the knob in, the sound of water rushing into the machine filled the room. Music to his ears.
********
Half an hour later, he switched the laundry from the washer to the dryer. He snagged a couple of dryer sheets from the box and threw them in with the clothes. There, he could do laundry. He didn’t know what the big deal was; it’d been a snap.
While he waited for the dryer to cycle, he went into the kitchen, made a cup of coffee, and read the paper. He’d just refreshed his cup and brought it to his lips, when a loud buzzing noise startled him, causing him to spill some of the hot brew on his shirt and jeans. “Damn!” Pulling the wet shirt away from his body, he grabbed a dishtowel and dried himself. His skin wasn’t burned too bad, just a little redness. Now he had to go upstairs and change. Wait a minute. The buzzer that caused all this was the dryer finishing with the clothes. ‘I’ll just throw on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.’
Back in the laundry room, he shed his soiled clothing. He opened the door to the dryer, pulled out a pair of sweats, and tugged them on. They seemed a little tight. Then he found a T-shirt and pulled it over his head. It felt a little snug, too. He yanked on the hem, staring down at the shirt. Come to think of it, the color didn’t look right, either. Maybe some of the boys’ clothes had gotten mixed up with his clothing.
He started to pull it up over his head when he heard a sound in the doorway and tugged it back down. When he turned around, he found his wife standing there, laughing hysterically.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. Since when did you own a muscle shirt?” Amanda said, stepping into the room. As her gaze swept his tight-fitting outfit, her eyes narrowed. “What temperature did you wash in?”
“Hot. I figured it’d clean the best.”
“Did you sort the clothes?”
“Umm . . . no. Should I have?”
“Yes.” Amanda began to pull the clothes from the dryer. “Some things shrink in hot water, and others bleed.”
“Bleed?”
“You have to sort by color. All whites in one load, colors in another. That’s why all your white things are now pink.” Amanda held up what used to be a red dress shirt and a white T-shirt.
When he looked closely, he could see the white was now a shade of pink. “Can we fix it?”
“Nope. You’ve already dried them. Heat sets the stain or colors into the fabric. When did you buy a shirt that is tie-dyed?”
“I didn’t. What did I do wrong now?”
“Did you pour bleach into the water?”
“Yeah, for the stained shirt.”
“That’s part of the problem. You never use bleach on colors. It fades them and makes them blotchy. There’s something else wrong, though,” Amanda said, as she continued to unload the dryer. “I found the problem.” She held up a ballpoint pen that looked like it had been through World War III. “Did you forget you had this in your pocket?”
Lee ran his hand through his hair. “I might have.”
“All the clothes are ruined. I don’t think there’s one thing salvageable. And I’m not sure about the dryer. The pen must’ve exploded and then splashed ink around in the dryer.”
Lee knelt and peered inside the dryer. The drum looked like a weird Picasso painting had been drawn on it. “I’ll buy a new dryer.”
“Let’s not be hasty. We need to try and get the ink off first.”
“Mom, I’m going to the park to play basketball.” Phillip walked into the room, dribbling a basketball. “Hey, Lee, I used to think you had good taste in clothes.”
“He does,” Jamie replied, as he entered behind his brother and came to an abrupt halt. “I take that back. He doesn’t. What happened?”
Lee rose from his kneeling position. “I did the laundry.”
“Oh, man, and you forgot to sort and stuff.” Phillip laughed as he left the room. “I’m outta here.”
“I was gonna ask if you could take me to Jerry’s house, Lee, but I think I’d rather have Mom do it.” Jamie looked down at the floor and scuffed his shoe on the tile. “I don’t even care if we go in the Jeep, instead of the ‘Vette.”
Dotty breezed into the room. “I heard what happened. I’ll take you, Jamie, and I’ll even drive you in the ‘Vette. Your mom and Lee need to sort out this mess.”
“Rad! I just have to get the book to give back to Jerry.” Jamie bounced from the room.
“Umm . . .” Thoughts of Dotty driving his car sent shivers down his spine.
“I’ll be careful with your baby.” Dotty patted his arm with a comforting touch. “I almost forgot. Did you remember to tape that sci-fi program for me? The one with the cute guy that reminds me of you?”
Lee slapped his forehead. “I set the VCR but forgot to check to see if it recorded. I had trouble with the timer.”
“That’s okay, I’ll check when I get back.” Dotty patted his arm again.
Amanda handed him a towel and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “You try to get some of this ink off the drum, while I go start dinner.”
As everyone left the room, Lee heard Dotty whisper to Amanda. “He might make a mess of the laundry, destroy the dryer, and not remember to tape a show for me. But I have to say he can fill out those tight sweats quite nicely, and that shirt shows off his chest handsomely. Yup, definitely an eleven.”
Lee groaned and started to rub off the ink. He had a feeling he’d be getting lessons on how to properly do the laundry--in the very near future.
The End
Story Notes:
Disclaimer: Scarecrow and Mrs. King and its characters belong to WB and Shoot the Moon Productions. No infringement is intended. This is written for entertainment purposes only. Please do not redistribute or reproduce this story without my permission.
Thanks: Rita and Miss Edna, you make my stories readable by catching all my grammar errors.
Thanks: Rita and Miss Edna, you make my stories readable by catching all my grammar errors.