Once upon a time, a girl and a boy met and married and set up house in a small apartment in Green Hills. The girl and the boy loved their home even though they didn’t have a washer/dryer hook-up inside their unit.
But, alas, the community laundry room was in the building just across from theirs. Every week, the girl would load up all of their laundry (usually on a Wednesday afternoon), detergent bottles, and a handful of quarters, and wash their laundry—three loads simultaneously.
The week’s laundry was usually finished within a couple of hours, always by dinnertime.
Then the boy and the girl eventually had three children and got their own washer and dryer. The girl now has more than ten loads of laundry every week. She swears the piles of dirty clothes spontaneously multiply when she’s not looking, and she’s certain she’s heard discarded pants and tops and socks mocking her, “Nah-nah-nuh-nahnah! We’re bigger than you are.”
Never a free moment from the tyranny of laundry.
And so, the story continues. The girl frequently finds herself longing for the days of three-loads-a-week in the community laundry room at that cute little apartment complex in Green Hills.
And they all lived happily (?) ever after.