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How not to do laundry

When I was 21 I met a lovely man many years my senior, named Vince Naso. I think he was about 36 at that time. We hit it off right away and we were literally inseparable. Not long after, much to the chagrin of my conservative parents, we bought a house together and proceeded to set up house and home. I had been raised in the Philippines with a household staff and ridiculously spoiled. I never had to do one stitch of household work or any of the cooking.

When I moved in with Vince, I pretty much winged it.  I always was fairly precocious, if not experienced, but here is one incident that backfired on me.
When I first moved in with Vince, he asked me if I knew how to do laundry. Thinking, hell everyone in America does laundry, they have machines, I thought I could figure it out, so I said yes.
In the Philippines we had laundry people and my mom did all my laundry in her machine when we moved to the States. I had actually never technically done laundry myself, but heck, how hard could it be.
Vincent  "Vince" James Naso
I got all his silk shirts, his Yves San Laurent suits, cashmere sweaters, jeans, underwear, white socks, and shoved them into the washing machine.
The box said one scoop, but I thought heck, this is a big load and this is America, so the more the merrier. I must have poured in half the box. Then for the temperature, I figured as hot as possible to kill any germs. It made sense to me. I then went to read a book or whatever.

Between the laundry room and the kitchen was a swinging door, and when I went to get a cup of coffee a while later, I noticed it was slowly opening and I saw foam all around the edges!! Oh my God! I opened the door and a wall of stiff foam enveloped me. Thank goodness there was a door to the outside and somehow I managed to get all the foam out of the hallway, and my, weren't the walls clean now too.
Undaunted, I set it on the rinse cycle assured everything was under control. When the ringer rang I went to get the clothes to put them in the dryer, and to my horror, everything was pink and to make matters worse the cashmere sweaters were small enough for a barbie doll and the suits didn't look all that right either.
Still not letting this get me down I figured I would call mom, Helen Limjoco since she knows EVERYTHING. When she anwered I asked her, "Hey, how do you make sweaters go back to the size they were before you washed them?"
Silence. "What do you mean go back to the regular size?", she says.

"You don't mean to say you washed them in the machine in hot water?"
Now silence on my end while I freak out in my head. OMG. "You mean to tell me they won't go back to the size they were?"

"Ummmmmm nope!"

GOD HELP ME, I'm dead.

"What about getting the pink out of the whites?"

"What do you mean get the pink out of the whites?"

Well needless to say I got a lecture on how to do laundry properly.
When I got off the phone I thought I would still give a go at getting those damnable cashmere sweaters back to their original size, but no amount of pulling, stretching or yanking would work,
I had to face Vince when he got home and he was actually quite the sport about it, although, I felt like a total moron all the more.
The good thing that came out of this is that he never let me touch his laundry EVER again and I was spared that chore for all the years we were together.
THE END

PS: Vince passed away many years ago, I am sure he can laugh about this more now while he sings with the angels.

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