La Vie en Clothes...

My underwear is hanging in the kitchen.


And not just the little lacy numbers, but ALL of it. I came home from school today to see Ole Saggy Butt, ElastaGone, and OHmyGodIforgotIwasWearingtheseNoYouMayNOTPassSecondBase, otherwise known as the Libido Assasin, waving in all their glory right above the kitchen table. I want to die. I could have held my hand over my heart and recited the Pledge of Panties there were so many of them there. How did they get there, you ask? Good question. Je t'explique.


My host mother Liliane, who is very nice and very maternelle and fantastic in all ways and I really do love her, LOVES to do things for me. Which is great. She makes my meals even though she doesn't have to, packs me a lunch, shops for my favorite things, cleans my room, leaves me flowers on my desk... she's wonderful. She also does my laundry. Which is great! However, she must have noticed in the course of re-folding my clothes (which is like a daily-basis thing) that I have been stashing away my used underwear and was going to secretly wash it myself with Maddie when we had a decent amount piled up. Seeing as the two of us packed a combined total of 232,543,534 pairs of underwear to preclude having to do wash at ALL, this was going to be a while. And seeing as I've been here for 3 weeks now, it was a decent sized pile of underwear. Now, I don't really have a problem with people touching my underwear. HOWEVER... In the course of staying here for over a week now I noticed that like many French people Liliane 1, does not believe in fabric softener (great for exfoliation) and 2, does not own a clothes dryer. Nor is there space for a drying rack, or a laundry room. The result? A clothes washer in the kitchen under the microwave and household drying racks (so practical!) which include doorknobs, chair corners, fan blades (my personal favorite) and newly discovered today, ON THE KITCHEN LAMP.


Rule 11: Find a better spot to hide underwear.