I both love and loathe going to the laundrette. The miserable task of hauling laundry, detergent, dryer sheets, bag, book, keys and quarters to a dingy little laundry up the block is evened out by the fun I often have there. I find it to be a great place to do school work, though really, I tend to catch up on my fluff reading.

I’m often entranced by the wall of dryers. Last week, I stood at an angle to them and could see an excellent photo laid out in my mind. The dryers were all going, and at two of the folding tables, two different people stood folding laundry, while an old lady sat guard over a washing machine. It was pretty cool.

Its interesting to watch people at the laundrette, because in a way, it is an equalizer. We are all there because our clothing is dirty, and we must clean it.

There is also a weird quietness surrounded the laundrette. The washing machines whirr and shake and rattle away, and the dryers blow and clank. There are always quarters whooshing out of the change machine, and various other beeps and buzzing sounds of cycles starting and ending, but no one ever talks to each other. When they do, its always awkward. There is now suave way of asking someone if the washer full of underware and bras is the one they’ve been using, and could the empty it please, I’ve been waiting here for half an hour for a free machine.

The last time I was there, I saw the cutest couple. Normally I don’t try to guess some one’s sexuality while out doing laundry, but this couple had such a cute femdom dynamic. Either that, or she can’t do laundry for shit, but if so, why follow her partner to the laundrette?

I watched from my folding table while she sat in a chair, watching him as he sorted the laundry, fetched quarters, and filled up a row of machines. She smiled indulgently while he transferred everything to a bank of dryers. Her main contribution to the entire process was checking the clothing in the dryers to see if it were dry enough. (Which is wasn’t – they were obviously new around there and they picked three of the four driers that worked the least. I got stuck with the fourth.)

She sent him to the car for more money when the quarters ran out. He had brought all the laundry in as well. But neither of them really seemed bored. Oh, I’m sure they were bored with the actual laundry process, but they were obviously very into each other. They had awesome, palpable chemistry.

When they finished, right before me the lucky bastards, he packed up all their clothing, and followed her out to their car, which she still had him packing with laundry when I left a few minutes later.

The only thing he didn’t, or perhaps couldn’t do was fold the fitted sheets. She folded them.

Apparently there aren’t many men out there who can fold the fitted sheets properly. At least the market for my class on sheet folding is bigger than I thought. I’ll teach Axe first, and he can be my sheet folding poster boy. :) I’ll teach the world to fold fitted sheets! I’ll earn the respect and thanks of anyone who’s ever dealt with improperly folded sheets! I’ll finally have an accomplishment that I can share with my mother that won’t cause her to be disappointed in me! Whee! Thank you fitted sheets!