For the past three years, I have lived in the Back Bay of Boston. Beacon Street between Dartmouth and Exeter. If you don't know, the Back Bay is one of Boston's most chichi neighborhoods (I snuck in under cover of darkness) and Beacon Street is one of the Back Bay's most chichi addresses (it was really, really dark and I wore sunglasses.) What this means to you in this moment is that there are no laudromats in the Back Bay.
I suppose they (whoever "they" are) figure by the time you can live in the Back Bay, you either a) have your own washer/dryer or b) can afford to send your laundry out. Either that or you are willing to schlep your laundry to the Fenway ~ which isn't nearly as chichi and is where I was living before sneaking into the Back Bay while wearing my sunglasses. Truth is, I didn't have my own washer/dryer, I couldn't really afford to send my laundry out but there was no way in hell I was dragging my dirty underwear three miles each way. So I sent it out.
Now, I'm in Worcester. Not terribly chichi. I live on the third floor. No elevator (not chichi, remember.) You get to my place, come around the back, go up two flights of stairs and TAA-DAH! You're at my apartment.
Today, I am doing my laundry. For the first time in three years. My Fabulous New Landlord (who will eventually end up with his own moniker, I'm sure) has supplied each apartment with their own washer/dryer in the basement. Very, very nice, if a bit chilly because it isn't insulated or anything. It's barely finished. But it's here, not three miles away. And it's free. I'm liking this more and more.
So, I go down, put my laundry in, remember how to turn all the nobs and push all the buttons and am all proud of myself. Walk up two flights ~ and open my second floor neighbor's door. Luckily, I realize what I have done and back away slowly. I don't think she noticed.
I walk up another flight of stairs and get to my actual apartment and go back to work. And work. And have dinner. And noodle around. And work some more. And oh shit I've got laundry in!!!!!!!!!!
Can you say frozen underwear?
Sigh.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
2 comments:
Frozen, clean underwear is better than warm, dirty underwear...at least, that is what "they" say. This coming from a mom who does no less than 2 loads a day and usually an "emergency-I-need-that-for-tomorrow" load at bedtime...which I am doing right now!
Miss & Love You-
The One in VA
well, i remember the days of putting the laundry into the washer (back in the days when the princess kitty was still a babe in my arms and we had no clean anything) only to discover that the pipes were frozen and no water would reach the washer.
so, i'm with the one in va... at least they were clean. (and i got a good laugh). love you!
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