don’t forget to separate your colors

Pro tip: if you’re going to wear the same thing for an extended period of time, turn down all offers to jump on a trampoline on Day 2.

Today’s point of awakening was that I’ve never really considered what goes on inside the washing machine. I awoke to discover that my shirts had crossed a freshness threshold, as had I. I’ve gone days without showering plenty of times, but always with clean clothes. Apparently not-clean me combined with not-clean clothes has an exponential effect on the downward spiral of my overall condition. So to the sink I went.

Our bathroom sink is much smaller than our kitchen sink and seems like a better recreation of the size you might expect to find at a gas station. Before I began I decided that 10 minutes was about as long as you could lock yourself in a public restroom before somebody came hammering on the door, so I gave myself that limit.

10 minutes may be a long time to wait for someone to come out of the bathroom, but it’s not very long to wash clothing.

I mentioned yesterday the thought that if you were actually homeless you’d probably never be clean all over at the same time, and I think that’s got to be true. There’s just not enough time. Especially if you’re a creature of habit like me. I’d want to pick out “my public bathroom” near wherever I was sleeping and keep going back there. To do that, you’d have to go unnoticed. Like 10 minutes or less.

The unintended genius of dressing in layers is that I can wear one garment while the other two are drying–after ineptly washing myself, I washed my Stinky’s Pub shirt and my button-down then put on my jacket while they hung on the porch to dry. The button-down was wearable in two and a half hours when one of my youth dads called to see if I wanted to grab lunch. The collar remains a bit damp. Stinky’s is still wet, going on 6 hours now.

Those two shirts and a quick once-over for me was all I could get out of my 10 minutes, which presents a bit of a challenge. I don’t know if I can even get my hair washed in the sink in 10 minutes; plus, it’s a whole extra trip to the figurative gas station. I can’t go everyday; I don’t buy anything inside and I clearly don’t intend to buy gas–they’ll be on to me in no time. Worse, while I was able to exit the bathroom today wearing a dry jacket and carrying two wet-but-somewhat-clean shirts, I can’t pull a similar trick with my pants. What to do?

How do you think Britta would feel about a commercial hand-dryer being installed in our bathroom? One of the ones with the “Feel The POWER” arrow stickers on it? Hmm. I didn’t think I was going to be particularly clean through this, but it looks like it take a calculated effort to stay on this side of being escorted out of the grocery store.

On the bright side, I’ll be at a youth event all weekend. I’m sleeping at the host home for the boys with at least five 6th graders. I should blend right in.



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