Wash Day

You get a line, I’ll get a pole, Honey
You get a line, I’ll get a pole, Babe.
You get a line, I’ll get a pole
We’ll go fishing up a crawdad’s hole
Honey, babe of mine.

This is what I sing when I hang clothes on the line. Up until today, I’ve really never hung clothes on the line except an occasional wetsuit or a few fine handwashables. I’m not entirely sure what inspires this special version of the song, but this is what I’ve got to offer Paradise today. I remember the first time Aunt Jean sang it, I looked at my mom like “Is that right?” No. But definitely a lot more fun to sing. I am thinking of Aunt Jean today and even moreso, Aunt Martha who is moving into her new apartment back in Indiana. Aunt Martha’s neighbor had one of those clothesline spheres. Like a baby blue plastic umbrella turned inside out, stood up in the backyard. I can just see her waving at me from her perfectly pressed dress and apron. Line drying clothes is fairly common down here – even Whitey does it. Air from the sky dries clothes too, what? But I know, as I hang each piece up on the line that somewhere Aunt Martha is laughing at the fact that I am not doing it right. There has to be a better system than the one I’m using. And by the way, I’m not completely comfortable with the “jog bra” on the line for the gardner to examine. I know it’s a perfectly platonic piece of athletic underpinning. But does he? A clothesbasket would be another good start. I dropped a couple of clean items. Which means, they are not clean now. Annoying. And I have to say, better clothespins would seal the deal. And why in God’s name would there be ‘cheap’ clothespins? Kind of cruel, no? “Well, don’t you know how to hang clothes on the line?” I can hear Aunt Martha asking me. No, not really, but I guess I’ll learn.