Conference moira::naturism

166.0. "Grin and Bare It" by KAOFS::D_BIGELOW (Hedonism - ahhhhhh!) Fri May 26 1989 17:27

    
    	I'm reprinting an article from a local newspaper, here, because
    I thought it might be of interest to some of you.  I'm not sure
    if this columnist is more concerned about doing her laundry, or
    being nude, but somehow she has tried to relate the two.
    
    		Learning to Grin and Bare It
    		   - by Carellin Brooks -
    
    	In the '60's, the great back-to-nature movement was epitomized
    by the nudists, who believed that our society's main problems would
    be solved if we all just took off our clotes and let everything
    hang out.
    
    	These people are now mostly extinct, for obvious reasons, but
    I've never personally formed a satisfactory answer to the great
    clothing debate: To wear or not to wear.  That's because for me,
    the bad and good points of clothes are equally balanced.  The good
    thing about clothes is that they cover, camouflage or simply contain
    one's myriad figure flaws.  The bad thing is that clothes get dirty
    and need to be washed.
    
    	Living in an apartment devoid of a laundry room makes the task
    of doing laundry more taxing than you could ever imagine.  First
    of all, there's the Time Dilemma:  To do the laundry after a week
    has passed, thus increasing the number of trips to the laundromat
    above the bare minimum, or to wait two weeks, by which time my
    underwear supply has completely given out and another day without
    clean laundry would force me to wear a tablecloth to school?
    
    	Then ther's the laundromat itself.  Into this innocuous-looking
    place is crammed the most diverse assortment of humanity imaginable.
     If you ever want to go study human nature, do it in a laundromat.
    
    	There was a woman who, when I left my clothes in the dryer for
    a few seconds after it had stopped, began removing them for me,
    strewing socks and underwear on the lint-covered floor in the process.
    Our shouting match proceeded to the folding table, where we
    scrupulously maintained an imaginary dividing line down the middle,
    ruthlessly shoving back each other's clothes when they overstepped
    the boundary.  It was kindergarten all over again.
    
    	The girl I next ran into - - while I was waiting to use the
    only available laundry cart for a five-second trip from dryer to
    table -- was in training for a world record in the category of Slowest
    Washer Removal.  Methodically, she lifted her clothes into the cart,
    examining them minutely for -- God knows -- washer-induced damage,
    and settling them into neatly separated piles.  A leisurely stroll
    down the dryer wall as she considered which empty machine would
    best suit her purpose, and I could stand it no longer.  "Are you
    going to be long with that?" I blurted.
    
    	She looked slowly up at the spot where I had been hovering for
    the last ten minutes.  "Oh, did you want to use it?" she asked in
    a tone of mild wonder.
    
    	Such adventures pale, however, when I am induced into my
    boyfriend's basement to do my wash.  Not only do the sex roles become
    sharply defined, but I can never completely convince myself that
    taking the laundry over to boyfriend's mom isn't a notch lower than
    poisoning your neighbor's dog.  Things get worse when I lug a garbage
    bag down the stairs, to be confronted with a completely
    incomprehensible set of dials.
    
    	"How do you start this thing?" I as the Student, who is hovering
    nearby.
    
    	"I dunno," he says.  Since he has lived in this house for 18
    years, I cannot believe he doesn't know how to do the laundry.
    
    	"Go ask my mom," the Student says.  "And can you put a few things
    of mine in that load?"
    
    	As I head back upstairs for a consultation with his mother,
    I think grimly of our future married life and the difficulties we
    are sure to encounter.
    
    	One thing's for sure.  By that time, the only way I plan to
    be induced into doing the laundry is in cases of direst emergency.
    
    	That's right.  In the house at least, it probably means the
    nudists will get my vote.