The day I failed at Laundry

My roommate Lauren always says that any article of clothing she owns needs to be able to be thrown into the laundry with every other piece of clothing she owns--if it doesn't make it out alive, then it didn't deserve to be in her closet in the first place.

Aside from most of the dresses I've made, I tend to live by Lauren's philosophy as well, though not in as many words. You always hear the horror stories of one red sock in with the whites, and you're ready for a Valentine's Day party after, but it's never happened to me.

Then I came to Spain.

And failed at reading icons. Not Spanish--that I can handle. what I can't handle are the pictures on our washing machine, such as the little curlicue.

What the heck is the curlicue supposed to mean? I get the snowflake. Except that it's not that cold. What's the leaf for?  Or the funnel?  Why in God's name are you putting a funnel in the washing machine?!? SO MANY QUESTIONS.

And the numbers are not minutes. They're degrees. Celsius.

So when I put the dial on the 90, that was bad news bears.

But hey, bright side, right? My formerly tan sweater is now a kickin' shade of grey. My blue shirt is now really blue. The white part of one of my dresses has a nice little pink hue to it now. Anything elastic is now white, regardless of whatever color it formerly was.

No, I have NO FREAKING IDEA what I did to my laundry.

At least my roommate and I got a good laugh out of this!  And hey, now I don't need to buy a new shirt to remember my time here!

"Oh, this old thing?  Yeah, it used to be a different color. Then I went to Spain, the magical place where nothing stays the same--even my clothes."