The day of reckoning

You can only avoid it so long. It builds up and up and at some point, action simply must be taken. It's always a dreaded day, but it's always lurking out there, staring one in the face. You know it's coming and you shiver and dread it, but like death and taxes, it can't be stopped. Finally, the day arrives.

You have to do the laundry. That happens because all the many, many socks, Jockeys and T-shirts you have amassed are nearly depleted. Well, truth is, I have probably 15 or 20 pair of underwear I've never worn and don't ask me why. I just don't get around to them because, by the time my T-shirts are depleted, along with button-ups, the old ones get washed and they're "broken in" and more comfortable, so to speak.

And I have socks galore too, many not worn in years. When I was preparing to go to the funeral last week, I was searching for a pair of dark dress socks to go with the navy blue pinstripe suit and found a brand new pair still in the binders, never worn. If a funeral didn't come along, they'd never be worn.

Back in the day, I used to be a clothes horse. I bought clothes left and right--at the men's shops, not the discount stores--and got into the habit of dressing in suit and tie, or sports coat, for work. I didn't have to, it just made me feel good to spruce up like that. It becomes a matter of pride. And too, I had a 32 inch waist back then and clothes hung on me nicely. Now, with this "Dunlap disease" (my belly dun lapped over my belt), I look like a slob in anything.

Back then, there were a couple of dapper fellows involved in the court scene where I went twice weekly at least and it became something of a game to see who showed up with the neatest new silk tie or pair of Italian loafers. That went on for several years until I finally said hell with it and went back to the Dockers.

Not long after my mom died, I went through all the clothing and gave away 60 plus shirts and 40 some-odd pairs of pants, most of which I had outgrown. There were a couple of suits I could still wear, but didn't need or want. A young guy who sometimes works for my brother around his farm got the clothes. A really poor kid who never had much of anything. Jerry said he was strutting around like a peacock with those clothes on. All of them were still good, not worn out or shabby. When you have that many clothes they don't get worn often enough to get threadbare.

I just hope he doesn't wear that camel YSL double-breasted, two-button, side-vent with the big legs because that's way too seventies-eighties. It looked fine it its time, though.

I don't have a lot of clothes nowadays. Not nearly enough outer wear. I have a handful of trousers and regular shirts. I need a new wardrobe and undoubtedly will have to purchase one before I go to California in November. Nothing fancy for damned sure. A few pairs of khakis and a few shirts.

But getting back to the laundry (damn I can get sidetracked!), the wise thing to do would be to do it some cool night. But no, I have to wait until a day when it's going up into the nineties. That's because my dryer doesn't have a vent through the floor and out of the house. The house is too close to the ground there and really no way to install one, unless a willing midget could be located.

So it has a lint bucket that attaches to the end of the hose. You put water in the lint-catcher. Talk about throwing out some humidity! But the water catches the errant lint, even if the inside of the house steams up like a freaking tropical rain forest.

I suppose I'll sit here and think about it, as the August sun climbs in the sky and it gets hotter and hotter. Around noon or so, I'll probably start throwing the stuff into the washer. I figure three big loads should do it.

Praise the Lord and pass the cold beer. The day of reckoning has arrived.