Nobody, myself included, can figure out how I manage to work up 6 machine loads a week. Apparently the house is empty for such a long time that some naughty clothes jump off the shelves and dive into the laundry basket just for kicks! That has to be it.
And since you can do nothing but listen or close this page, why don't I blabber on about how I am too lazy to wash pretty Fabindia clothes by hand, and just dump them all in the machine, throw in some Genteel/Ezee and let the machine do the rest? My "trousseau" clothes, having been worn once a month on an average (yes, it was that kind of trousseau) have been into the washing machine about 40 times, which is more than any Fabindia garment can stand. No wonder they often go krrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr without notice, which is not a nice thing to happen when you're in office. I can understand why I have the same job since my wedding, the same house, and maybe even why the same husband. But why can't I give up these clothes before they desert me during a meeting???
If my ruthless washing was not enough, they go for a brutal ironing regime to the local Iron Man, whose name is, I kid you not, Jesus. He has a mobile, and when I am stuck in office and the husband is at home, I call Jesus and ask him to drop the clothes at home, and then call my husband to alert him. "Hello! Jesus is coming. Wake up!" People around me never fail to fall off their chairs when this happens.
Ok, so this is what happens when you try to blog for one month straight. All your dirty linen gets washed in public. Am off now to hang the clothes out, and if you too run up 6 loads a week, you need to lock your cupboards before you go to work.