I hate the smell of bleach.
When I was a young lass, I spent my summers working at what would come about if 7-11 and Dairy Queen had a lovechild that they sent to live with an estranged great aunt in rural Saskatchewan.
After a few years, I was 'sent upstairs' to work in the food prep/ice cream service area. This was a real promotion. I was thrilled.
Except that I smelled like deep fryer grease and bleach ALL THE TIME. That bleach smell still makes my nostrils twitch and lights a strange urge within my soul to write angsty poetry about how no one understands my plight. Oh, how strongly our memories are attached to our sense of smell.
I try to avoid those two particular aromas these days, and lean more towards soft orientals and vanillas in my personal perfume use.
Last weekend - not like, two days ago, but the weekend that came before - we bought new bedding. I was delighted by the crisp, clean white sheets and duvet cover and pillowcases.
10 days later, I am not so much delighted by the concept that white linens means washing them ALL THE TIME. With bleach, if I really want to keep them white-white-white!
We don't have a washer and dryer, so I have to haul my pretty self and my smalls down 24 floors to the basement, where, if I'm lucky, I'll pay $2.75 a load to wash and $1.75 a load to mostly-dry.
Weekends, as you can imagine, are not a great time to try to do laundry. And it's so darn hot in our apartment that hauling out an ironing board to press a set of queen-sized bed linens = not so much fun.
But here we are, clean white sheets for another week. I guess it's worth it to feel like I'm living in a fancy hotel - if only they came with laundry service.
1 day ago