Fluff and Fold
When I was a little girl, I saw a television show about people who sort through the charred remains of fires and try to piece papers and important documents back together. The people who were profiled were quite good at their work. I recall one of them using a pair of tweezers to sift through a pile of what looked like gray dust, but was actually burned cash. The narrator explained how a really skilled person could make sense even of this pile of dust, and that the proper procedure was to sift through the pile and look for the largest pieces first, as they would contain clues that would help one put the rest of the pieces of the puzzle back together.
I had this principle in mind this morning as I pulled a particularly large load of clothing out of the dryer. With Ty and I being the urban yuppies that we are, about 99.99% of our socks are black, with just a few pairs of white cotton ones thrown in so that we can delude ourselves into believing that we are athletic. When I let the laundry slide a bit, it is like searching for clues in a big pile of dust to try to match the various black socks, emerging from the great big sock orgy, with their proper partners. I look for size, materials, wear patterns--anything that will provide clues.
What exciting forensics do you participate in?
I had this principle in mind this morning as I pulled a particularly large load of clothing out of the dryer. With Ty and I being the urban yuppies that we are, about 99.99% of our socks are black, with just a few pairs of white cotton ones thrown in so that we can delude ourselves into believing that we are athletic. When I let the laundry slide a bit, it is like searching for clues in a big pile of dust to try to match the various black socks, emerging from the great big sock orgy, with their proper partners. I look for size, materials, wear patterns--anything that will provide clues.
What exciting forensics do you participate in?
Copyright 2005-2010 by Arabella and Trattoria Breve. All rights reserved. 8:33 AM
8 Comments:
Identifying what it is exactly that I'm pulling out of the fridge is always fun, especially items that come from the crisper.
Ah, the stack of puzzles 4 ft high on occasion end up in a jumbled pile of puzzle pieces the size of a bean bag. And there are 3 different Nemo puzzles in the mix. If I didn't already know how type A I was, the fact that all 14 puzzles are completely intact without any pieces missing should clue me in.
MamaT, I've got the crisper issue too. What exactly is it for, besides hiding vegetables until they look like science projects. I say just give me two more shelves, dammit.
I have a second fridge out in my shed, which has electricity and a poured cement floor (the previous owner used to store and charge his Harley in there). There is a little red light on the back of the shed that lets me know the power is still on, just in case it does that thing where it goes off for no reason. One time, it *did* go off, but I didn't notice the light was off ... for about 2 weeks. The month's worth of meat I'd stored in the freezer had liquefied and run down the back of the machine - INSIDE the workings as well as down the plasticky part I could actually clean. That's when I knew I could never actually be a CSI. The stench of rotting meat almost knocked me down as I cleaned, scrubbed and Lysoled.
The fridge still smells funky.
I have the nose of a bloodhound so most of my forensic activities involve identifying odors (and eradicating them) around the house. I imagine this is going to drive me out of my mind once we have a baby.
Mrs. Harridan I'm with you. That would have been too much.
I try to make sense of the little bits of shredded paper I find in the dryer after I forget to check Hoop's pockets. It's usually paperwork for his job... Or cash... Or other horribly important things.
Socks for me as well...the damn things either multiply or divide, depending on the day. I spent hours each week trying to find socks for me 3 children to leave the house in....if I am desperate I go buy a new pack and go with them until they run out...
Socks. My kids are getting big, my son's socks are almost as big as mine, my daughter's almost as big as his. We have loads of khaki and white socks and pairing them is a nightmare as well as figuring out who owns what. (My athletic socks look small when they come out of the dryer, like a kid's sock!)
Back in Prussia, we always clipped our pairs of socks together before washing. You describe the Mediterranean method of sock washery, as evidenced not only by the confusion, but by the fact that you refer to the jumble of undisciplined socks as an 'orgy'.
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