Laundry Ethics

Saturday is laundry day for me.

Though I live alone, I begin with gathering and sorting, just like everyone else. This brings up the first problem: has that garment "aged" enough? Yes, I wore that turtleneck all day yesterday, but I didn't get too sweaty, and it doesn't smell that bad. Is it OK to wash it? Then there are the sheets and towels. When I was a boy, my mom had a very strict sheet routine: every week she changed the top sheet and moved the top sheet to the bottom. I've got fitted sheets now, so I guess two weeks on the whole set is OK. Or is it? When did I change them last? Sniff test?

We move forward: pollution. A year ago, I went to the Great Falls of the Potomac with my sister. It's a wonderful place, more impressive, actually, than Niagara (though not such a tourist venue). It was a wonderful early summer day, and as we stood there, she asked me what that smell was. It wasn't foul or dead or anything like that—sort of pleasant in fact. Laundry detergent! The whole place smelled Springtime Fresh; I assume the chemicals in laundry detergent make it through the sewage treatment process. (I've noticed the same phenomenon while bicycling past the Lexington sewage lagoon.) After that, I vowed to buy only the fragrance-free variety, but I capitulated. Target had a sale and I bought some Floral Medley All. Am I a bad person? I guess I'll use it anyhow.

One more ethical hurdle: the shared washing machines. My machines are just downstairs from my apartment, and two serve twelve units. I don't mind that very much, but I do get troubled when someone leaves stuff in a machine forever. I've got to watch it, though. If I get properly irritated when someone else does that, I need to keep a timer and run down when mine is done, lest I cause someone else to fall into the sin of anger. There's also the danger that my damp clothes will be piled on the shelf if I leave them too long.