Laundry. I hate it. Is there really anyone in the world who likes to do laundry? My hatred of laundry has me taking many of my clothes to the dry cleaners to wash and press for me.
I have a history with dry cleaners. When I lived in Colorado, I worked from home and it was lovely. But occasionally, I would need something pressed for an evening out.
There was a dry cleaner in the shopping center behind my house. A beautiful Korean woman worked there and seemed to always be the only person in the store. Over the years I learned her name…Mi Cha. She was always very pleasant. Well, almost always.
I constantly have stains on my shirts. I am a food dribbler. I have often been tempted to carry around a bib with me when eating out in public.
This stain was mustard. I tried to get it out before taking it to her but I had no luck. I walked up to the counter and opened up the shirt to show her the stain and as I opened my mouth to explain it was mustard, she looked at me and said, “You eat too much!”
I immediately died laughing. She was very serious and seemed pretty angry about the mustard stain, but I just couldn’t stop laughing. My overweight body was jiggling from laughter and I think she felt somewhat better stating the obvious. I never had any issues after that. Not even the next week when I brought in a shirt with crusted ketchup on it.
After moving back home from Colorado, I had to find a new place to take my clothes. After a couple of trips to one I found that was on my way to work, I really hit it off with Rachel, the woman who works the drive through window. I have been back home for five years now and we have gotten to know each other very well.
I hate shopping for new clothes. Lately, I have been purchasing more and more from eBay. Once they arrive in the mail, I take them directly to Rachel to work her magic.
One shirt in particular had Rachel all wound up when I went to pick up my clothes.
“Why in the world did you pick out this shirt??? It is so NOT you. You know what you are going to look like in this shirt???? An impregnated peasant girl. Lace??? Ruffles? You??? Um, no. Take it back or set fire to it,” she said.
Later that day I tried it on and was so pissed off to see that she was absolutely correct.
Being the good sport that I am, I invited her over for the burning of the shirt; we made S’mores and laughed all night. Well actually, until I dropped burnt marshmallow and melting chocolate on my shirt and she gave me that evil dry cleaner stink eye and told me, “You eat too much!”