“Really? There’s a MACHINE in the basement that would do this for me. This is so stupid.” Ok, I didn’t say the “it’s so stupid” part, aloud. I said it in the comfort of my own mind.
This was a common semi-dialogue I would have with ma grandmere when I stayed the night.
Every night before bed, she made me wash my undergarment, by HAND. She did the same.
Until this day, I can still see her toffee tone stockings andbrassieresdraped over the shower rod.
I dreaded it.
It wasn’t until I became an adult thatje remercie beaucoup ma grand-mèrefor prepping me.
Before having disposable income, undergarments were one of the items I splurged on. When studying inMilano, my flat mate asked me one day “if you’re so broke (which I was) why did you just spend €60 on abrassiere?”
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