Today is laundry day. Unlike some, today is laundry day not because of routine (it’s Tuesday), convenience (the Laundromat is emptiest today), nostalgia (my favorite shirt is dirty) or any other reason than by necessity. Like many others, today is laundry day because of need.
Laundry “need” is defined differently from person to person, but I essentially make laundry day the last day possible for me to put on a semblance of articles of clothing and (1) not smell putrid and (2) not be naked. As Mark Twain once said “Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.”
Laundry day approaches as quietly as a freight train. About a week in advance I realize that I am starting to resort to the undershirts with pit stains that glow in the dark (and coincidentally make the armpit of the shirt so inflexible I cannot fully put my arms by my side. I have no idea how old sweat coalesces into the shirt to make stainless steel, but it does, I promise).
A few days before laundry day I start wearing tennis shoes with argyle socks and/or dress shoes with socks that show the Nike swoosh when I sit. Depending on the week, such as this week, I can extend laundry day a few more days. I occasionally even pay homage to a Michael Scott like parody of Tom Petty’s most well known hit with my “internal waredrobe” or lack thereof (that sentence had so many allusions David Copperfield got jealous). (and I know its allusion v. illusion smart guy)
However, I made the decision to make today laundry day after assessing my workout clothes wardrobe. Note: I clearly do not usually care what I workout in, but occasionally I cave. Today, I looked at the full length mirror in the fitness room in my building and realized while I thought I was getting into better shape, I suddenly looked like an awkward eighth grader trying out for the basketball team he has no business being on. I noticed that I didn’t grow in height or girth, and my shorts and shirt were appropriate for a grown man. My shoes looked a little funny, but I had been running in a version of them for years (I am devoted to a specific Asics model).
Then it hit me. I was wearing tube socks. Just the term reeks of middle-school-awkwardness. They are the dreaded “no man’s land” socks. That is, they aren’t the cool ones that look like you’re not wearing socks or the short ones that I wore growing up. Yet, they aren’t like the super annoying full length socks that excessively exuberant basketball players wear. They are somewhere in between in “no man’s land.” That is no man should never be allowed to wear these socks.
The socks are not solely responsible for the appearance as much as the people I normally notices wearing them. They are, by rule, skinny, skinny but obviously slightly uncoordinated males (I am sure they are worn by overweight guys as well, but in that case I like to imagine they are the high basketball type and they just got swallowed by the giant calves).
In an instant, I was transformed from a somewhat athletic individual into a skinny, awkward guy who should not be anywhere near the weight room. It’s amazing how one seemingly innocuous article of clothing can transform someone. I finished my workout (sheepishly) and immediately conceded that it was in fact laundry day.
As much as I am prepared that laundry day is coming (by the uncomfortability of my T-shirts as indicated above), I am always shocked when it actually arrives. I always imagine that I will discover one more pair of boxers hidden in the drawer. Like Zeno, in his dichotomy paradox of motion, I can acknowledge that I am closer than I was yesterday, but it always seems like I should never actually get there. That is, until I turn into junior high jimmy.
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