I had three goals for today, outside of work:

1. Drop off my mountain of dry cleaning.
2. Go to Albion.
3. Do the laundry.

I managed to accomplish one of them, which is, I suppose, saying something.

The dry cleaning had become rather an issue. The thing is, and some of you may be horrified to hear this, I am really lazy about dry cleaning clothing. I tend to wear wool sweaters and slacks, er, well past expiration date. I mean, it’s not that they get to a state of bad smell, just that they are not as fresh and crisp as they ought to be, really. And they smell rather like me. I think I smell ok, most of the time, but wet wool and me can be a heady combination. So anyway, I had a stack of sweaters and slacks which really needed to be dry cleaned sitting in my closet in San Francisco, and the thought of lugging it all into the City and finding a dry cleaner had just been too much for me. Especially since the weather had been unseasonably warm and nice, thus making me feel really silly for even thinking of cleaning wool garments. Although the time to do it is when the weather is nice, so that it is ready when you need it.

So anyway, I brought this pile of exhausted wool clothing up with me, and I sort of wore one of the sweaters the other night, because it was freezing, and I decided that I really needed to just do it, drop it off and get this ball rolling on the whole dry cleaning thing. So I bagged it all up today and traipsed to the dry cleaner.

Only…it was raining. Not too much, not like a deluge, but raining. So I got soaked through and I was cross because of the pits of gravel and dirt where the sidewalk used to be, and I skidded through the door of the dry cleaner and tried not to look cross as I stacked the pile on the counter. And the nice lady took it from me and started logging it all in and said “Friday good for you,” and I said “yes,” and she handed me the slip, and I wandered out the door, and halfway through the block I realized that all I had was the tag, with a number, and how would they know it was me, and what if someone stole the tag and then went in and tried to steal my clothes, and then my favourite pants which I hemmed by hand would be gone, and I would be so bitterly sad.

But when I pulled the tag out, it turned out she had written my name on the top. So there you go, that’s what living in a small town is like. I probably hadn’t been in there in 10 months and she still knew who I was, and, get this, also knew my phone number, because that was in the line below it. My question is whether she really does have an encyclopedic memory of every customer by sight (or pants, or maybe smell), or if there’s something about me that she just remembers. Creepy.

About the Albion thing, I really wanted to do it, but suddenly it was nine o’clock, and then ten, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to organize a ride, and since I don’t have a car, that was pretty much out. Hopefully I will get to see my friends there before they skip town on Sunday. Proposals have been made for a river trip, although the weather is hampering things.

As for the laundry…well…I got really spoiled having a washer and dryer in the house, right there, ready for action. It was just so damn convenient, you know, everything all downstairs so I could just toss things in. Now, I have to drag things to the laundrymat. I have been going to Lucy’s since I was a wee lass, but the laundrymat has certainly fallen on hard times. Half the dryers don’t work, the prices keep climbing, and it’s very sad, desperate, depressing, even. And there are all these weird smelly people, and people insist on smoking outside the door, and it’s really not a very pleasant experience, all told. Was Lucy’s cleaner and nicer when I was a child, or was I just oblivious? So the thought of loading up a backpack and traipsing there in the rain was just too much for me to even begin to ponder. Tomorrow, perhaps. Assuming it’s not raining. Which it probably will be.

It would be pretty awesome to have fresh clean sheets, though. (Never fear, dear readers, my approach to sheets is not like dry cleaning clothing. I wash my sheets around once a week, as a general rule. But clean sheets are the best, all tight and pulled down and crispy detergent fresh.)

If my house was any larger, I would shoehorn a washer and dryer in here. I don’t care that there’s no hookup. I would create one using rubber bands, a plunger, and six hair pins.