Last year, after letting my laundry pile grow for a month I waited until the last possible day before I had to do it: the day I ran out of underpants. I changed out of my work clothes - sans underpants - laced up my shoes and headed down the steep steps of my apartment building and the rickety steps out the back of the building with a bag that must have weighed at least 50 pounds.
I had three more small steps to conquer before I could get into the communal laundry room. I'm not sure what happened but I fell and heard my ankle pop. I was still hugging my laundry bag and sprawled out over the cold, dirty concrete crying. Instead of surveying the situation, I just continued crying and having a panic attack. I thought I was going to die alone and no one was going to find me. No one in my building would come looking for me and they'd find me days later, tears frozen to my face and not wearing any underpants beneath my jeans (I don't recommend this).
After a few minutes, I realized I wasn't going to die, my ankle wasn't very swollen and I wasn't even bleeding. I crawled into my laundry room and put the clothes in the wash. After all, I didn't have any underpants. I hobbled back up to my apartment and rolled up my pant leg to reveal this:
I called a friend of mine in the neighborhood who was nice enough to take me to the hospital. I was so embarrassed because I've always been told to wear clean underpants in case I have to go to the hospital (among other reasons). And, I was really messing up that life lesson. I got an X-ray and the doctor told me it was broken. The next day my brother was nice enough to drive from Philadelphia to take me to get it casted. After another X-ray, it turns out it wasn't broken.
But, now there is nothing I dread more than doing laundry. I get a knot in my stomach; I'll delay it any way possible. I've worn bathing suit bottoms instead of underpants to delay it one more day. I've purchased new underpants. I had to do laundry today, and I survived. My mom called me to let me know she was thinking of me and to remind me to take my time going down stairs and remain calm. It looks like I'll be safe for one more month.
1 comment:
They have this service wherein a laundromat sends a representitive to your door who picks up your laundry, washes it, drys it, folds it, and delivers it back to you. To your door! Door to door! This is only marginally more expensive than doing it yourself, and the pick up/drop off part is often free except for the tip. Granted, this service is intended for lazy slobs (me) but I'm sure it works for phobics too...
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