When does a relationship become “real”? When is this one or that one the one? How do you know it will work? Will last?
There are some classic indicators.
Do we like the same food, or will we argue over your mom’s-my mom’s recipe for tomato sauce (Gravy? Really??)? Pork roll, never Taylor ham.
Are we fans of the same sports, let alone the same teams?
How about movies? Rom-coms, comedy-comedies, sci-fi, dramas, blowing lots of stuff up? “Love Actually”?
Do we have the same taste — or at least compatible taste — in music?
And, of course, pets: If the dog says no, you must go.
None of these, however, ascends to the level of laundry. Once you’ve survived each other’s laundry, you’re on the way to growing old together.
The retailers call women’s underthings “intimates” for a reason.
Doing somebody’s laundry doesn’t require living together or even occasionally spending the night, the way you need to to judge bed head or morning breath. Your SO doesn’t even need to be home, if you’ve made pickup or dropoff arrangements.
Just the hamper and its no-longer-secret secrets.
You went to that concert? I was there too!
When did you start mucking out horse stalls?
Ring around the collar. Athletic socks. T-shirts from top to bottom and back again.
No need to hack somebody’s FitBit; if they skipped their workout or took it easy, their gym stuff will rat them out.
You learn everything about somebody from their laundry, and they learn a lot about you from the way you do the wash. Romeo and Juliet actually broke up over the way he sorted lights and darks.
This is serious stuff, folks.
So remember: Bleach can make history disappear, and starch can be a metaphor.
