Singing in the rain is great, but not if the big wet spot on your pants is pee instead of rain drops.
My cousin and I spent the weekend at Bochi’s. My cousin’s name is Mary Ellen and mine is Mary Barbara, not to be confused with cousins Barbara Kay, Barbara Ann, or Ann Shirley. We simplified things by going by DeeDee and Mimi. It sounded much cooler, too.
DeeDee and I decided to shrink our jeans so they’d fit tighter before going to the Jaycee Center that evening. Not wanting to inconvenience Bochi, we walked several blocks and made our first visit to a Laundromat.
The owner painted the Laundromat’s exterior bubblegum-pink, but didn’t believe in color for the interior. The walls, ceiling, and machines were dirty white, with a gray cement floor. Odors of bleach and mildew coexisted.
DeeDee loaded the washer while I purchased soap. The soap dispenser was a rip-off. I paid one price for two small boxes of detergent, whether I wanted two or not. I turned a box over and around; no directions anywhere. The soap was totally different from what we used at home.
“Hey Deed, how much soap should I use?”
“How would I know?” she answered.
A running dryer indicated another customer had recently vacated the premises, leaving no one from which to obtain washing instructions. DeeDee and I were on our own.
I sprinkled a box of flakes onto our jeans. Hmmm, it’d be a shame to waste the extra box of detergent.
The Laundromat was empty, so we amused ourselves by singing silly songs, dancing, and making each other laugh. Our variety show abruptly halted as a river of foamy soap suds bubbled out of our washer.
“Oh my gosh,” screamed DeeDee. “What do we do?”
A pair of forgotten long-johns lay wadded in a corner. I grabbed them by their leg cuffs and swatted the growing suds. Bubbles flew in all directions. Deed found part of a newspaper and helped swat the frothy mix. We laughed until we cried.
Suddenly, I stopped laughing.
“What’s wrong?” asked Deed.“I laughed so hard I peed my shorts,” I answered.
“Oh good, because I did too,” she said.
I’m not sure why, but misery sure does like company. And peed shorts when you’re a teenage girl is misery.
Our finished load of wash sizzled from excess soap and bubbles. We determined the overflowing suds weren’t our fault and must be a common occurrence, because a shallow trough leading to a drain was carved into the cement floor.
“Holy cow! We’re like Lawrence Welk,” I said. “We made our own bubble machine.”
“I’d say we’re more like Lucy and Ethel,” replied Deed.
Using up our dryer money, we ran our sudsy jeans through a second wash cycle with no need for additional detergent.
We began the walk back to Bochi’s with our doubly-washed jeans rolled into wet balls tucked under our arms.
A misty rain fell, but wasn’t heavy enough to disguise our peed shorts.
“I’d rather look stupid than gross,” I said and tied my light-weight jacket around my waist. Deed followed suit.
Turning with my back to Deed, I asked, “Can you see my pee spot?”
“Nope,” She answered. “Can you see mine?”
Bochi sat on her porch glider, enjoying the summer shower. She shook her head as we walked up the front steps.
“Why do you girls walk in the rain with your jackets tied like skirts?”
Too embarrassed to admit we peed our shorts, we answered, “We’re hot.”
Bochi continued shaking her head. In addition to using our grandmother’s dryer to dry our very clean jeans, we used her washer for our peed shorts and contaminated jackets.
On the way home from the Jaycee Center we laughed about our Laundromat mishap. In silly moods, we made up words to Tip Toe Through The Tulips and acted out our lyrics. Our favorite was scuba-diving through the tulips.
Lesson Learned: Old ladies aren’t the only ones to have little accidents.
Now it’s your turn: Did you ever overflow a washer or your pants?
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