My flat hair never did manage to look big, but I still liked chunky necklaces. I’d throw one around my neck and then haul my laundry baskets all the way down two flights of stairs to my basement. Then I hauled them all the way back up when I was done.
It was hard work.
Now I live in a swamp. With big humidity-frizzed hair and no basement. And also, no washing machine of my very own.
I get to haul my basket of laundry down a hill. Then walk back up the hill to my house. Then hike back down to switch my laundry. Then climb back up the hill. Then stumble back down to fold my laundry, only to turn around and stagger back home. Carrying every piece of clothing my family owns. Up hill. In all that humid humidity.
It takes all day. But I don’t mind, because I’ve discovered a few secrets:
Hauling that dirty laundry up and down the hill makes me strong. I have biceps Mr. T would envy, at least just a little bit.
Being sweaty while hauling around all that dirty laundry makes me appreciate a cool breeze. And the song Black Velvet. If hauling around stinky clothes in hot humidity had a sound track, it would be Alannah Myles’s song from the 80’s.
Smelling all of that dirty laundry after it magically becomes clean makes me smile. Even if that clean laundry now has permanent stains I didn’t know about before. Even if my family walks around in dirty-looking clean clothes. At least we smell good.
Being in love makes you haul around baskets full of dirty laundry. Even when I don’t want to make the hike up and down the hill, I do it anyway, for my family. Because I love them more than anything else on Earth. Except for frozen mango chunks. And fresh salsa. If I had to choose between the three, I’m not sure who would win.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to stagger back down the hill to get my dirty-looking clean laundry from the dryer. And inhale the sweet scent of those fresh, stained clothes.
I’ll just fluff up my big humidity-frizzed hair and throw on a chunky necklace before I go. It will hide the fresh salsa on my shirt…