Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, October 9, 1995 TAG: 9510090111
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-7 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
This time, at least, I dyed them gray, not pink.
``That's a sign of latent aggression, you know,'' said the Man of the House.
``What is?'' I asked.
```Accidentally on purpose' dyeing your husband's underwear pink.''
``It wasn't `accidentally on purpose,'' I sniffed. ``It was simply `accidentally.' And it wasn't even pink.''
What it was, was a black T-shirt that I was sure had been washed before, but that hadn't been, and that got thrown in, at the last moment, along with the underwear and the socks.
I explained this to the Man.
He said, ``Underwear and socks? In the same wash? Isn't underwear white? Aren't all my good socks dark?''
``All your socks, good or bad, are the exact same color,'' I told him, ``speaking as the one who separates and matches them.''
``But you didn't separate them, did you? Isn't that the problem?''
``The problem is the black T-shirt,'' I reiterated. ``Let's not muddy the waters.''
All right, so it was an unfortunate metaphor.
But are ``laundry skills'' at the top of my resume?
They are not. Nor have I ever claimed that they were. I've been perfectly clear on this. Covert actions, latent aggression, passive aggressive dyeing - indeed!
You want passive aggressive? I'll throw in some starch next time.
I have a friend who has four children. She does more laundry in one week than I'll have to do in a lifetime. I consider her an expert.
Once, while visiting, I asked her what she'd be doing in the next load. I had a few little delicates I hoped she'd throw in, if appropriate.
``What am I putting in the next load?'' she muttered. ``Whatever's on top of the pile.''
``I start at the top and work down,'' she explained. ``The trouble is, the top is constantly being replaced. There's shirts on the bottom of that stack that no one's worn in months. By the time I get down that far, even the baby will have outgrown them.''
Her system made sense to me.
And so, you see, I was working my way down from the top. According to expert advice. And finally I'd reached the bottom of the hamper. But there was that black T-shirt. All balled up and musty. How long had it been there? I didn't even remember that I owned it.
Consequently, I tossed it into the washing machine as quickly as I could. You don't want to look at such garments too closely. They might harbor brown recluse spiders.
``So that's how it came about,'' I explained, yet again, to the Man of the House.
``But look,'' he said, holding up a still-white pair. ``You missed some.''
``Closer to the top,'' I said. ``Must have been. Up with the sheets and towels."
``The towels?'' he asked. ``Aren't all our towels dark brown or maroon?''
``You do the laundry next time,'' I said.
``You know,'' he mused, ``this gray is fairly interesting, after all. Rather corporate-looking.''
Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times columnist.
by CNB