My “new to me” washing machine, which I think was produced sometime after women stopped beating clothes on rocks and sometime before The Internet, is a problem. The single dial allows for normal, permanent press, and delicate. Those are my options. I should note, other than the name there is no apparent difference between any of those three settings. Not length of the cycle, aggressiveness of cycle (this thing vibrates the dirty out), not temperature of the water.
It is the latter point on which I shall dwell/am relentlessly dwelling. This ancient relic only washes in warm water. I know because I took the temperature of every wash (regular, perm press and delicate) and rinse cycle. Twice. And tomorrow I’m buying a second thermometer to verify the results. I’m not obsessive, I’m a trained scientist.
Every cycle was a balmy warm. Never hot, never cold, just warm. I ask you, wise readers, who the hell washes on warm? What is the point of warm? Hot to kill stuff (ewwww), cold to protect stuff (like your darks and the environment), warm for what? My wonderful technical clothes that keep me smelling like roses on the hottest day and help me run faster on the slowest day can only be washed in cold. Cold only. Never warm. Only cold.
How am I supposed to wash my run delicates? The source of my smell good fast running superhero powers? It’s summer. I can’t rewear. I also can’t go to a laundromat. I’m too old to lug. Laundromat aversions and superhero delusions aside, my run gear can only be washed in cold for a very important and under-appreciated reason.
My limbs. As a long-limbed gal my wear, running or otherwise, can only be washed in cold — and never ever placed in the dryer — lest my pants end at my kness and my shirts at the elbows. These running clothes are skimpy enough. I can’t lose precious millimeters from my too short short-shorts.
What is a long-legged laundromat-averse deluded-superhero to do?
Title: Dr. Horrible – The Laundry Song. 2008.