I’m a big believer in the power of the washing machine. To me, there is little the washing machine cannot handle. Clothing coated with mud, bits of leaves, and shredded grass? Not a problem. Dry-clean only suits and dress shirts? Piece of cake. A sleeping bag dirtied from a camping trip? Just keep shoving until it fits.
I know that my carefree attitude towards using the washer constitutes minor abuse, as I’m certain the compact-sized stackable machine in my condo was not designed to launder a full-size down bedspread or my muddy bike shoes with metal cleats, but the only problem I’ve had so far is the machine “walking” across the floor during a violent cycle. I don’t mind walking; as long as it’s not overflowing or actively catching on fire, I’m willing to keep putting new things in.
The other night, Bobby happened to be nearby as I emptied a particularly diverse washload. The contents included some regular clothing, some biking gear, a bathrobe, a pair of high heels, a mouse pad, a paper towel, and about $0.23. When I was finally done, he looked at me bemusedly and said, “Not everything goes in the washing machine, Lindsay.” And now I am determined to prove him wrong.