Pass me the Mangle

Good evening to my readers that I can safely count on one hand. If you’re reading this then you haven’t yet tired of my ramblings every Wednesday and I thank you and honestly wonder why you bother. I probably wouldn’t to be honest, but hey I have zero patience and a low tolerance for my own brand of bullshit.
This week I mused for a while about what to talk about, got my drink in at the bar, found a comfy seat, put my earpods in and, well, a whole lot of nothing. Well apart from stuff that doesn’t belong in a public forum anyway.
One thing from my week that I’m going to bring up is handwashing clothes for the first time ever. My flat as lovely as it is, has no washing machine and no room for one anyway. That’s fine I thought before I moved in, I will make do and handwash stuff in the sink. How hard can it be right? Let me tell you, handwashing is no joke! I have some physical limitations as well as mental, but I thought it would be no sweat. How wrong I was! First the colour separation thing that I mostly ignored with a washing machine, has to be taken FAR more seriously when you handwash. Trust me. Then there is finding a detergent that doesn’t burn holes in your hands or blind you with an unfortunate splash. The first problem can be solved with gloves, but keeping that shit out of your retinas is far more troublesome if you are a clumsy cow such as I.
Then once you’ve washed them as much as you think is required (it’s never enough) you then have to rinse them to get the soap out.
Sounds easy. Just imagine trying to ring water out of a big ball of cotton. It’s harder than it looks! And then repeat this process with every pair of pants you currently have in your laundry basket. I couldn’t grip bugger all for ages afterwards.
Lastly you hang them up to dry. I bought a little laundry hanging frame thingy which is fine, but because you never seem to get all of the excess water out you end up putting a towel on the floor to catch the rest. This whole exercise has taught me how women many moons ago must have felt about a mangle. I honestly wished I had a mangle at that point which is something I never thought I would ever hear myself say, but to be fair a big rock next to a river to bash the shit out of my clothes would have done. For that hour I wished I was a Victorian spinster, minus the typhoid of course.

Anyway speak to you all next week.
Bye bye

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