Laundry
Tumult, kids!
I recently had to buy a new thing of laundry detergent. A rare occasion: Tide was on sale. All varieties of Tide, even Tide "with a touch of Downy."
In my freshman year of high school I had a big crush on a waspy kid whose family liked to vacation in Vail.
"You smell like Tide
I guess it's your clothing.
It's a controlled smell, and I always have admired it."
-Freshman poetry book with Queen Amidala on the cover, circa 1999.
I don't remember ever having Tide in the house growing up. Certainly never Downy, or any fabric softeners for that matter. Inhaling a pile of hot laundry I mostly smelled warm cotton and clean, not perfume. Sitting next to this kid in Physical Science I smelled a diverged path, not even of his making, but something generations back, seemingly irreconcilable and otherworldly. Standing by his locker as he threw on his Columbia ski jacket I was too stupid to resist a feeling of dirtiness and inferiority as wafts of his mother's handiwork billowed out.
Last night I slept in a bed smelling of the laundry rooms of the handiwork of the mothers of America. I curled up my legs to my chin and smelled my pajama pants, something about them was more absorbent and they fairly reeked of mountain fresh bouquets. I don't think I liked it. But it was an interesting experience to have that smell on me for once and know that there was probably never a time it would be appropriate.
Now I just have a whole bottle to get through.
I recently had to buy a new thing of laundry detergent. A rare occasion: Tide was on sale. All varieties of Tide, even Tide "with a touch of Downy."
In my freshman year of high school I had a big crush on a waspy kid whose family liked to vacation in Vail.
"You smell like Tide
I guess it's your clothing.
It's a controlled smell, and I always have admired it."
-Freshman poetry book with Queen Amidala on the cover, circa 1999.
I don't remember ever having Tide in the house growing up. Certainly never Downy, or any fabric softeners for that matter. Inhaling a pile of hot laundry I mostly smelled warm cotton and clean, not perfume. Sitting next to this kid in Physical Science I smelled a diverged path, not even of his making, but something generations back, seemingly irreconcilable and otherworldly. Standing by his locker as he threw on his Columbia ski jacket I was too stupid to resist a feeling of dirtiness and inferiority as wafts of his mother's handiwork billowed out.
Last night I slept in a bed smelling of the laundry rooms of the handiwork of the mothers of America. I curled up my legs to my chin and smelled my pajama pants, something about them was more absorbent and they fairly reeked of mountain fresh bouquets. I don't think I liked it. But it was an interesting experience to have that smell on me for once and know that there was probably never a time it would be appropriate.
Now I just have a whole bottle to get through.