The joys of laundry

I'm sitting here grumpily avoiding folding my laundry thinking to myself that someone really needs to invent some sort of contraption that folds your clothes for you. Wouldn't that be nice?

Ready, set, FOLD!

But then I remember that it won't be long before I'm back in Spain and won't have the luxury of a dryer. I'll have a clothesline outside my kitchen window and the Andalucían sun, leaving all my t-shirts crunchy and my jeans a little looser with every wash. The forty minutes it takes for most clothes in the dryer will soon turn into a full day. Or three. Or five in the winter.

Confession: this pic is from my semester in Rome, but you get the idea

However, stiff socks, jeans still wet after 24 hours, and worrying about clothes falling off the line will all only mean one thing: SPAIN.

As much of a pain in the butt the process of washing clothes is over there, just thinking about it makes me happy because it means Spain is that much closer. I can't wait to be pulling my non-soft, non-fluffy, non-warm clothes off the line. Afterwards I'll get to head down to the Malagueta for a beach day, enjoy a caña in Plaza de la Merced, meander down Calle Larios, or maybe even hop on a plane or bus to some other fantastic destination.

But for now, I'm folding my clothes and counting down the days. (33)