I have habitually paid to have my entire clothes collection cleansed. By the kilo. However, when I inquired, every laundry locality charged by individual item. I resolved to purchase detergent and rinse them myself. I located Tide and was as satisfied with myself as if I had a pet pig named Moo who was as loyal as Mickey Mouse's Pluto. The Tide yielded ten loads and cost as much as three shirts.
After brimming buckets in the bathroom with water and detergent, soaking clothes, rinsing, ringing, and hanging, my hands were as coarse as Cinderella's. But I was pleased with my frugal feats.
Every time I added another garment to a bathroom faucet or fixture, a shirt or a pair of underwear would fall and stream into the soused floor. It occurred to me that I should swing shirts in circles to shed water. Like I bend over and brandish my head about when my hair is waterlogged. This was as profitable as investing my savings in the stock market two months before the economy plunged. The apparel I attempted to rattle dry dislodged already dangling attire onto the flooded floor.
When I departed Darjeeling, my clothes were as clammy as thirty-eight hours before. Packing saturated clothes resulted in my bags and all belongings smelling like mold.
I blame the wet, cold Himalayan climate. In talking with my mom days later she said a friend had suggested I try out for Survivor. I can't even wash and dry clothes.
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