Sometimes...

Sometimes, a girl just needs a bag of these:




Luckily, I have a husband who understands and appreciates this need.
Especially on Saturday. In the laundromat.

When I lived with my parents, laundry was a piece of cake. I could throw it in, leave, come back that night and change it over, throw some more clothes in, worry about it the next day, etc...(all the while hogging the dryer, while my clothes got moldy in the washer.) But it got done.
And I didn't have to dedicate an entire day to do it. Or even 3 hours.

As a single college student, I became accustomed to the time-consuming, always-too-hot, quarter-devouring, hair-on-the-floor place called the laundromat. Little did I know, those establishments would be a part of my life for many years to come.

When we lived in Springville, we'd lug it down to the local city laundromat. And sit there. Right in front of the machine....and sit there and sit there (and pay $4.00 a load). For fear of having any of our precious textiles stolen.
But here, in Provo, in our new apartment complex, only innocent neighbors and trustworthy people abound. So I reveled in the fact that Saturdays would no longer be spent sitting. We'd drop it off and run other errands, then come back to retrieve it.
That was a short-lived glory, however. Because just in the last month we have heard of a thief with an affinity for $1000's worth of warm clothing, and also a FIRE incident, which obviously put a cramp in someones style....both in our complex.
So again, for fear of fire or fiend, we sit again. And sit there and sit there.

Lately I've been going alone. But last week, after lugging 4 bags of laundry up the stairs to our apartment, I was on my last trip... carrying an armful of wet shirts (the ones that I line-dry...in our shower) from the trunk of the car to the steps of our building, and dropped my favorite WHITE v-neck into a conveniently located oil puddle in the parking lot. Lovely. And then I stepped on it. (no, not on purpose.) And then I yelled. And ran inside to frantically hand-wash the stains out. Yeah right. So then I threw it away. And called Jonny:

Me: We are getting a washer and dryer.
Him: Umm, maybe we can in our next apartment, ok?
Me: .....
Him: Maybe I'll do the laundry next time?

So this Saturday he commenced gathering the sheets and towels and all manner of clothing, stuffing them into bags and piling bags into the car. And I felt guilty. And the frustration of Saturdays past was long gone. So we went together. And took our homework.

And Jonny put 2 loads into a giant washer. And started it. And the "lock" on the door, didn't lock. So he leaned against it, to keep it closed. And every time he moved, 3 gallons of suds poured onto the floor. And we laughed. Until we dropped the detergent cap between the machines....and it was my job (with the "skinnier" arms) to get on the dirty floor and fish it out.

So we sat and waited. And waited...But we sat at the folding counter with our textbooks, and the sun in our eyes. And teased each other and taught each other things. And then my wonderful, sweet, handsome husband got up from our "desk", and returned with the magical golden bag from the vending machine. And I smiled. At the laundromat.

My favorite candy. My favorite man.

Could life get any better at the laundromat?