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To Have and to Fold

Posted by Mark David Manders Fri, 10 Nov 2006 12:30:00 GMT

“There’s wrinkles on his face, wrinkles in his clothes. And he wears a little thinner as each day unfolds…”

It is a common misconception that men do not do laundry, or at least do it properly. I beg to differ. Most males are very accomplished in the art of washing and ironing clothes. Whether his experience comes from four years in college or simply living alone as a bachelor, the average adult man has, at one time or another, learned to master this basic household trait.

Then there is the husband. Most husbands, I will concede, leave the laundry to their wife, whether she works or not. It’s almost as if as soon as a man says, “I do” his mind erases all prior domestic knowledge. A line is drawn in the sand. He thinks, “Your job is to tend to inside chores and mine is to take care of the yard, vehicles, and minor household repairs.”

Not the case in our family. Do you have any idea how many dirty clothes we accumulate in the span of one week? The triplets are eight now and capable of making their own breakfast, walking to school, and, of course, dirtying up at least five pairs of jeans each per week, not to mention socks, underwear, and the ever-dreaded washing machine space killers- towels. If Kathryn and I slack for even a day in our laundry routine we are overwhelmed and spend the rest of the week playing catch up. Laundry around our house is a constant threat which requires the complete attention of both adults.

So you can imagine my panic when Kathryn called me last week and said, “Honey, the dryer quit working.” This was on Monday. I was on my way back from Sugarland and I only had one day to address the problem before leaving again for the Terlingua trip. I told her to call our neighbor, David, and see if we could use his dryer until I could either repair or replace ours.

It was a risky proposition. David had given us an extra key about a year ago to look after his house while he visited family in Louisiana. A few months back David mentioned to me that his supply of Patron had mysteriously dwindled. I tried to place the blame on Shawn, our other neighbor who also had a spare key, but deep down inside I knew David still had his suspicions. Fortunately, he agreed to let Kathryn and I use his dryer and thus began the new routine of carting wet clothes across the alley.

Now anyone who’s ever done laundry knows that the washing machine is much faster than the dryer. The average load takes only thirty minutes to wash, but at least forty-five to dry, and even longer for jeans and towels. This presents a problem when you’re toting basket after basket to your neighbor’s.

So I devised an ingenious solution. Actually, I borrowed on an almost forgotten technique that would make most grandmothers teary-eyed as they reminisced of bygone laundry days- the clothes line. You know, the summertime center of housewife social activity. In the days before fences and home owners associations, moms throughout the neighborhood would hang out their laundry to dry on two elevated wires using an ancient accessory, the clothespin. As they hung their linen out to dry they would chat with the neighbors and catch up on the local gossip. It was similar to the present male form of information exchange- mowing the lawn on Saturday, except it normally didn’t involve having a beer in one hand.

Anyway, the weather Monday and Tuesday was perfect for drying clothes, highs in the upper seventies and sunny. I rummaged through the garage cabinets and found a coil of wire that I used for staking my trees, repairing the James’s drum set, etc; kind of the urban equivalent to bailing wire. I then strung the wire from a fence post out back to the gymnastics bar that I had made for Jessica for her birthday. I knew the makeshift clothesline was a little lower than most, but at the time it didn’t bother me.

So my routine was this: I would wash a load of jeans, hang them on the clothesline until the next load was done, then take the slightly moist load to David’s for final drying, replacing the jeans with the next load of clothes. I didn’t have any clothespins so wind was a factor. Fortunately there was only a slight breeze Monday evening and Tuesday.

By Tuesday evening I had laundered at least seven or eight loads, enough to keep the kids clothed until Kathryn and I returned from the Terlingua trip. We were to be gone for five days and the last thing I wanted to do was send the kids off to my mom’s house with dirty underwear.

Kathryn and I returned from Terlingua around three in the afternoon this Monday only to find that in our absence the master bathroom toilet didn’t work and the kitchen faucet wouldn’t shut off. (My grandmother had always told me that things happen in threes.) So, after I picked up the kids from school, I got on the internet and ordered parts for the kitchen faucet. I then drove down to Elliott’s Hardware and bought the replacement parts for the toilet. By the way, this was the third time the toilet had acted up. Apparently the replacement crap they sell you at Home Depot only has a life-expectancy of only three months. Elliott’s, my favorite mom and pop hardware store (possibly the only mom and pop Home Depot hasn’t run out of business in the D/FW area), may be a little more expensive, but they actually carry brass replacement parts instead of that cheap, plastic garbage offered by the larger chain.

Monday evening I repaired the master bathroom toilet. On Wednesday the replacement parts for the kitchen faucet arrived. Within a few minutes the sink was fully operational again. I then set my sights on the dryer.

Our washer and dryer are made by White Westinghouse. In the past few years I have replaced the agitator, timer, and several knobs on the washing machine, but until this week I had not attempted any repairs on the dryer. Now I like to pride myself in the fact that I can, at least I believe I can, fix anything and everything that breaks in our house. (I often bring up this point when Kathryn gets upset at me for buying new and sometimes exotic tools.)

On Wednesday, however, I ran into a problem with the dryer- I couldn’t for the life of me remove the outer panel to get inside the unit. There were two screws located just below the control interface that I swear were impossible to get at with any type of screwdriver. I exhausted every method known to man to remove the screws, but to no avail. After three hours I gave up, thinking I would have better luck the following day. In the meantime, laundry was once again piling up.

That evening Kathryn and I decided to cook out on the grill. It was dark and I forgot to turn on the flood lights as I made my way out back to light the grill. I was moving along at a pretty good clip when all of the sudden my makeshift clothesline caught me under the chin and damn near ripped my head off. It was all I could do not to drop our steaks as my knees buckled and I fell to the ground.

OK, there comes a time when even the most stubborn of men finally admit defeat. Now I’m sure that I could have repaired the dryer. I am almost positive that all the dryer needed was a new belt; all I had to do was find a way to get inside. It may have taken a few weeks, but I could have done it. But you know, when it becomes a grudge match between man and machine, nine times out of ten the machine will win.

The only thing left now was to save face with Kathryn. I couldn’t let her know that with all my fancy tools I was unable to fix the dryer. So I lied. I told her that the dryer was beyond repair and that I’d have to buy a new one in the morning. I’m not sure if she believed me or not, but right now I don’t care. My back yard is no longer booby-trapped, my neighbor likes me again, and right now I’m folding dry clothes in the comfort of my own home.

How does the commercial go?

“Steaks not dropped on the way to the grill- $16.95. New Maytag dryer- $279.00. One hundred percent machine dried clothes- priceless.”