Now, onto less tuna related topics and onto more “exciting” things, such as Laundry. As you may or may not know, I adore doing laundry—this will hopefully be the beginning and end of my domestic “to-do” list as Trophy Wife. My favorite part is all the laundry accessories! (you may think I'm joking here, but seriously, I'm not) I have wash bags to extend the life of my clothing, three different laundry detergents for different types of clothing, bleach, fabric softener and of course bounce sheets (look at all that free advertising!). This may seem excessive...and it is. But, this is what really gets me going. I told V.F.™ that a w/d was the only deal breaker in the scheme of searching for a place—that’s right, bitches, we’re living in sin before getting married—a bathroom was negotiable, laundry room was not.
With all this background information, you can understand my horror (horror!!) when the crazy new landlord said that the washer water was used to water the plants in the yard (grey water) and I would be forced (forced!!) to buy biodegradable detergent and my days of using bleach and fabric softener were over. Note here that I care a lot about water (like a crazy water nazi), but that's how much I care about my fabric softener! I still am devastated. There is nothing better than air-drying clothes (see? I care about the environment! Just in different ways) with the subtle scent of Downy filling the house.
V.F.™ already uses that hippie shit, but I guarantee that it will in no way clean my clothes as well as Tide and Downy. I might have to start going to a dreaded Laundromat just to clean my clothes the way I want to! This new crazy landlord is cramping my style and now I’ll be all static-y in my not entirely clean clothes. I fully intend to wash my clothes as much as possible while still at my old place, killing the environment one Downy cap-full at a time.
I suppose I have bigger things to concern myself over at the moment. You know, like research papers, work, planning the fucking wedding or ending world hunger.
On a side note, if I truly want to be a Trophy Wife and not actually intelligent at all, I need to dumb down my understanding of the world and how society truly works. You know, pretend I was raised a pageant queen or in North Carolina or something. For now, though, I’ll just have to wave elbow-elbow-wrist-wrist my laundry accessories goodbye.