Wednesday, 6 December 2006

Laundress in Leichhardt

News flash: I am currently holding hostage Leichhardt's premier laundress. She dissolves her washing powder to avoid streaks, she uses fancy spray-on stain remover, she separates her coloureds from her whites (if that sounds like some kind of sick municipal policy emanating from the Alabama KKK, please remember we're talking socks and pillow slips here), and she's HERE, IN MY HOUSE, USING MY LAUNDRY!

And now that she's back from the toilet, it's interview time! (WHOOHOO!)

Lexicon: So, Bernhilde, how did a nice girl from the suburbs like you find yourself in a laundry like mine?

Bernhilde: Using my personal GPS.

Lexicon: HAHA! You're very funny! And now for my next question. Ummmmmm...

[Bernhilde leaves desk to check if the current load is still spinning. She's back. Yes, it's still spinning. Investigative journalism at its finest.]

Lexicon: I've just bought myself a new pair of jeans (a twenty schmackeroonie job from Kmart). They're rather snug (I'm that kinda lady). How do you suggest I go about their first wash?

Bernhilde: A snug jean needs a snug wash. Close and cosy as this may sound, it's gonna be a lonely first wash for those hip huggers. They need what we call in laundry circles a "Separate Wash". And there's no finer water for this separate wash than cold water. I'll have you know, dear readers, that my whites are currently undergoing the privation of the first non-hot wash they've had for a long while, thanks to the primitive (but much appreciated) facilities on offer at Chalet Lexicon.

Lexicon: Ah, yes, the primitive facilities at Chalet Lexicon. I'll just go dig myself a hole in the back garden for tonight's excrement, what ho. So, Bernhilde, tell us about your finest laundry experience, dalliances amidst the wondersoap, wondrous feats of stain-removal, washing powder drifting like snow about your enraptured laundressliness.

[Bernhilde has now returned to the laundry to unload her whites and soap up her towels. At this point, I should state that in answering this question she will decline to mention specific brandname laundering products, because, like, we will not be slaves to the corporation.]

Bernhilde: This, right now, has to be one of my top three laundry moments. Bringing it to the people, live. Laundry doesn't get all that much better than this. Although, I ought to mention that the role laundry plays in modern courtship has been severely under-represented in the media. When I say courtship you probably think of coy glances as you unload towels from the drier at the laundromat. Or maybe you've seen someone sexily pull the lint from the filter. What I want to share with you, Dr Harlot, is an anecdote of how my prowess with the suds turned to lurv...

Lexicon: Brace yourselves, readers. This is turning into one saucy post.

Bernhilde: You know what it's like when you fancy a lady/gent/sea anenome. You start acting a bit silly and doing things you don't normally do and before you know it you've dragged your non athletic self along to the side of a hockey field and are feeling a little flustered by the sight of your fanciage in a hockey skirt. Fluster turns to fear when she takes a spill on the turf, but fear turns to rapture as you see her rise, triumphant, from the ground with a bold grass stain the length of her shirt. Enter Bernhilde, Laundress Lothario. She shyly asks, on the way home, whether she might be of assistance in the removal of the grass stain before the next game. Assent makes her giddy, but not nearly as giddy as the bleach fumes as she stands and scrubs and sweats over the basin of hot, hot water.

Lexicon: I'm not sure if I'm old enough to hear this, Bernhilde.

Bernhilde: Sadly, I think you are. One nervous phonecall to advise of the shirt's readiness and the hockey player shows at my door for collection of the prize. I offer the newly white, neatly folded shirt and have a flutter at the hockey player's exclamation of surprise. I offer a cup of tea with assumed nonchalance and am shocked, deeply, by the hockey player's inability to accept. Hockey player's girlfriend is waiting for her in the car outside.

Lexicon: Oh, Bernhilde, I'm sorry. You can't trust these modern hockey playing types. But at least you've still got your laundry basket.

The End.

Stay tuned for next week: Interview with My Friend the Lawn Mowing Man.