My friend Tawana is in a snit about her dry cleaning bill.
She's upset because the dry cleaners, living as they do in the 20th century and all, insist on charging more to clean her clothes than they do to clean and press men's clothing. I suppose it must be because of the bustle and all that crinoline.
I can surely sympathize, but I can't get worked up enough to fight city hall with her.
Because my clothes never seem to make it to the dry cleaners. I put them into the car with the best of intentions, and I head off to work or to the grocery store. A block and a half from my door, I've forgotten that I have them with me, or where it was I intended to take them. After a while--a few days or a few weeks--I realize that I really need that jacket or sweater now wadded up in the floorboard of the car to complete my smashing ensemble. Suddenly, those clothes don't seem nearly as dirty as they were when I put them into the car. So I carry them back into the house, run them around in the dryer for a moment or two, and pronounce them, "fine, mostly"
Like a lot of us, all they really need is to get out of the house for a while.
Today's post was written while listening to Ray LaMontagne's 2004 CD, Trouble.
Image, Tate Liverpool Museum.
She's upset because the dry cleaners, living as they do in the 20th century and all, insist on charging more to clean her clothes than they do to clean and press men's clothing. I suppose it must be because of the bustle and all that crinoline.
I can surely sympathize, but I can't get worked up enough to fight city hall with her.
Because my clothes never seem to make it to the dry cleaners. I put them into the car with the best of intentions, and I head off to work or to the grocery store. A block and a half from my door, I've forgotten that I have them with me, or where it was I intended to take them. After a while--a few days or a few weeks--I realize that I really need that jacket or sweater now wadded up in the floorboard of the car to complete my smashing ensemble. Suddenly, those clothes don't seem nearly as dirty as they were when I put them into the car. So I carry them back into the house, run them around in the dryer for a moment or two, and pronounce them, "fine, mostly"
Like a lot of us, all they really need is to get out of the house for a while.
Today's post was written while listening to Ray LaMontagne's 2004 CD, Trouble.
Image, Tate Liverpool Museum.
2 comments:
I have had a bag of clothes meant for the dry cleaners in my trunk for a year and a half now. It's gone beyond just forgetting to drop them off...now it's like I'm bound and determined to see how long I can go without needing those clothes. It's probably for the better - I'm sure they wouldn't fit anymore anyways!
Kayla
I simply don't buy things that must be dry cleaned. I even wash my cashmere sweaters on the delicate cycle.
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