Clothes pile up for a week and I can't do anything about it! When I embarked on this journey to a new, unfamiliar land with the intention of becoming the perfect housewife I didn't think I would have to share a laundry. There is one machine shared between our building of perhaps ten apartments and it's locked so no one can have a sneaky wash after dark. Ohh what's a girl to do?
Since I don't know enough French to bargain with our concierge for extra washing time, I am reduced to sitting tight and waiting for my time slot. I walk up to the concierges door going over what I need to say in my head before she answers the door and when she finally does, I freeze, stutter and eventually she works out that I need to use the machine. I have etched my washing time in my brain to make sure I don't miss my day, otherwise my husband will run out of clean socks and underwear and I will have failed as a housewife.
One never truly appreciates the convenience of having their own washing machine until they have to share.
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