laundry.

my washing machine is smaller than any i have ever seen, like most things in europe. the countries are small, the coffees are small, the cars are small and the old women here barely come up to my waist. i suppose that makes it energy efficient, since it probably uses less water and electricity; a polar bear is saved every time i wash my socks. it would be, rather, if i knew how to use it in the proper way, one that didn't involve domestic abuse and death threats. it wasn't always like this. at the beginning, things were happier. there was mutual understanding, an easy forgiveness, a steady camaraderie between the two of us. the washing machine was patient with my frequent miscommunication, awkward dial turning, and sometimes forceful button pushing. it ignored my mutterings, steadily swirling my clothes in a mix of soap and water. doing laundry was simple then, in that time of innocence. things began to sour however, as the honeymoon stage quickly wore off, and our differences– american vs. european, english vs. spanish, human vs. machine– pulled us apart like stockings with a run. first, although the dial would turn to a finished position, clicking coolly into place, the door refused to open. no amount of tugging, pounding, swearing, or pleading could convince it that yes, the clothes are clean, and yes, i would like to hang them on my clothesline (another european charm). and so began the four hour washing cycle. turning the dial started the cycle again, forcing my clothes round and round, until at some point i could open the door. this brought with it another unforeseen problem: soaking wet clothes. not damp, like they should be. really, i could both remove my laundry and shower simultaneously. perhaps this is another, less obvious energy-saving tactic in which two polar bears, not one, could be saved simply by washing clothes. way to go, europe. having already showered, i decided to wring out my clothes over the garden three floors below my window. sadly, numerous socks were dropped, forcing impromptu rescue missions, and yes, dirty socks. which had to be washed. again. given my now-cold relationship with my washing machine, my mom suggested hand-washing. my roommate (apartment-mate?) just hand-washed some of her clothes this morning...in the bidet. there you have it. the bidet: not just for genital cleaning, also a great place to wash your delicates!