Ok, I'm bleary eyed, but I'm back.
Yesterday was filled with stupid household stuff. Cleaning the toilet, the shower, dusting, vacuuming, etc. Real
exciting stuff which nonetheless needed to be done. I also did laundry
yesterday. Five loads in as many hours. Sounds like a lot to be hauling
up and down three flights of stairs in between cleaning fits, doesn't
it? Well, it was, particularly when you take into account that I was running
up and down those three flights of stairs. Why was I in such a rush?
Well, the highlight of the day was an epic battle between the Pakistani
Grandma who lives downstairs and myself for sole control of the washer
and dryer which we share.
The couple who shares the Cake Eater House with us (it's a duplex, only
they live below us, not next to us)are both doctors. Busy
doctors. The husband just finished up with his residency; the wife has
passed her boards and is working on her internship. They also have a
darling two-year-old boy who's the sweetest thing since lollipops were
invented. He's a darling. Mom and son spent most of the winter in
Pakistan visiting family, avoiding the Minnesota cold and snow, and had
serious trouble getting out of the country because of the big terrorist
scare that happened. Part of this trip, also was to visit extended
family. But when they finally arrived back here in Cake Eater Country,
Grandma came with them. This was their child care solution: they were
tired of little boy going to daycare and always becoming ill, so
Grandma watches him during the day and also does all of the houshold
chores, too.
Apparently, she loves washing clothes. And drapes. And sofa covers. And
rugs. She loves
washing rugs, so much so that there's always little bits of rubber
backing in the lint filter (which she NEVER empties! Yesterday's
emptying of the lint filter produced three inches (three inches!)
worth of lint. YUCK! The house is either going to burn to the ground or
I'm going to spontaneously combust from always having to empty that
damn thing---either way flames will be involved.). Anyway, since she
moved here, the washer and dryer are always in use. Now, I don't ask for much, but a little time to complete the washing that's necessary for my
household to run doesn't seem like too much. Considering our lease
gives us that right. And I want that time during the day, not in the
middle of the night, when I'll fall down the stairs because I'm tired.
But that's about the only time Grandma would allot me if I let her,
despite the concessions I've already granted them. I used to do laundry
once a week. Then I decided that wasn't really necessary because a. we
had enough underwear to take us through to two weeks and b. they had
more clothes with a small kid, they're both doctors with busy
schedules, and I ultimately decided I should leave them extra time and
space to help them out. I will admit, this has inconvenienced me at
times. But it hasn't been a big deal until Grandma came to visit. She's
taken advantage of the situation and I've had it. No more will I be the
one who bends in this contest of wills. Well, Grandma doesn't see it
this way. She thinks I should be the one who bends. Apparently, even
one day every two weeks is too much to ask for. Yesterday I was forced
into demanding it. Utilizing my "I will not bend" philosophy, I braced
myself and took my first load of whites downstairs. Of course, I had to
move their stuff out of both the washer and dryer to get access
(something I hate doing; it makes me feel like I'm violating their
privacy). Then I started my load, hoping I was in the clear for the
day. And I even conveniently let them use my basket because I didn't
want to put their clean, dry clothes on top of the dryer, lest they
fall off onto the filthy basement floor (which Tweedledumb, the
manager, is responsible for cleaning, but has yet to do). A
humanitarian, am I not? I'm a good person. Well, I was not in the
clear. Grandma promptly shot a cannonball across my bow by placing a
BIG basket full of sheets on top of the washer, claiming her space in
line.
Screw that. I fired back, although I tried to be as nonconfrontational
about it as possible.
I snuck in my five loads, running up and down the stairs every hour at
twenty past the hour, just so she didn't get ideas, and her big basket
full of sheets sat there, mocking me, the whole time. I even ran into
her on the stairs outside of their apartment and she smiled at me, and
I chatted with the little boy while he showed me his 3-D glasses and
everything was nice and friendly, but you could see the annoyance in
her eyes as she heard the washer switch from fill to agitate. I just
smiled sweetly. She doesn't have enough English to complain; I didn't
say anything because a. she wouldn't have understood it and b. I hate
confrontations. The conflict was there: we just didn't verbalize it.
(Although, I'm pretty sure that if I spoke either Arabic or Urdu she
would have gone off on me.) I think she'd finally had it when I washed
my duvet cover (last load of the day) and when I went down to put it in
the dryer, it was already tumbling. I wasn't surprised. I'd gotten
sidetracked and was a few minutes late making the switchoff. Guess what
was also there? THREE
baskets full of washable items. The sheets that had been mocking me all
day long were in the washer, but there were drapes, towels, and clothes
lined up neatly, all waiting their turn in the washer. I swear to God
she went through the house and started throwing stuff into baskets. You
name it, it was next to the washer, just waiting to be agitated into
cleanliness. I chuckled and went back upstairs: her primacy, her
position as the Napoleon of the Laundry Room, was fully restored, but I
didn't care all that much as my laundry was done. This will not be the
case in two weeks. Another battle will be fought. Wounds will be
sustained, yet we will both survive to fight another day. This was just
the first battle in what I forsee to be a long war. Who will win?
That's anybody's best guess, but I'm going to do my damndest to make
sure I don't lose. I know, this is really thrilling stuff that's
keeping you on the edge of your seat, no? Heh. But this is my life. As
soon as I get jacked back into the web, I'll start blogging about stuff
that really matters.