HOW LONG BEFORE THE WASHING STOPS COMING HOME AFTER TRADIE MOVES OUT?!

There’s nothing quite like seeing the loaded washing line flapping in the breeze, the sun warming and drying out garments, sheets and towels ready for another week ahead. The smell of ‘ocean breeze’ or ‘bright hibiscus’ wafting from them (depending on who did the buying of the washing powder of course). You watch the years go by on that washing line. First it was the nappies, well in my day it was. None of these disposable, unsustainable bottom covers were afforded then. The nappies had the accompanying bootees, romper suits and bibs which then gave way to toddler shorts, tee shirts and dresses. We then had the ink stained, mud covered school uniforms which had been soaked and cleaned to be proudly paraded on said washing line for all the neighbours to remark “so you got the stains out then?”. If I hadn’t, they wouldn’t be flapping, they would be drying quietly on the clothes airer out of sight of searching eyes!

We then went onto the grunge teenage clothes, usually all black and that black and this black so a completely separate load had to be put on. If not the grunge, then it was the pretty blouses which can “only be hung this way mum” or the underclothes which had to be hidden behind towels or sheets as they were getting skimpier by the year. Then we had sports uniforms and sports towels by the dozen as once used, the bedroom floor was the best storage facility until the damp, smelly mound with the cry of “where are all the dry towels?”  gets picked up by frustrated washerwoman(!) who can’t take it any longer and have the ‘ocean breeze’ thoroughly rinsed through them.

Then it’s the wet, sandy wetsuits, hanging alongside swimmers of all varying shapes and sizes. (You actually wonder if some of the pieces of material actually cover anything up but hey…. who am I to say? I was a teenager once. Well, I know I was but the offspring find that hilarious so perhaps aliens did come down in spaceships to drop me off?

Now we have the work clothes, yep, offspring are out earning their own fortune. There are the office blouses and now more dry-cleaning than you can poke a stick at, but they are paying for that. Right? I should co-co.

The offsprings of the family finally move out leaving just the Patriarchs business shirts flapping with ‘bright hibiscus’. A sense of serenity in the breeze is apparent.

Until, every Thursday afternoon…………Bless him, “how are you going mum?”

The washing line tells its story!

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