There’s no Sunday scarier than when my basket is overflowing with dirty leggings, sports bras, and my boyfriend’s Bombas socks. It takes me about five minutes of courage to crawl under my hydraulic lift storage bed to get to my laundry equipment and assorted oversized totes. But the real chaos happens when I take the elevator to the laundry room. Or as I call it, “Bubble Battlefield.”
Bottles were scattered across the top of the machine, some ajar, blue goo dripping onto the white laundry lid. The remains of what was lost and found last week lie dusty in an “intimate graveyard.” The single sock was left mixed in at its own party on the cement floor. Balls of lint danced in the air like tumbleweeds in a Western movie, and in my head I heard a whistling, bouncing Foley sound that foreshadowed the tension in the air. Slow-motion scenes play out – residents jump, grab and throw clothes from one roller to another in a valiant attempt to save their clothes from falling to the floor to free a machine. If I decide to do laundry on a quiet weeknight, the task is just that: a task. A mundane chore that must be done.
So if laundry is something we all have to do, I thought, why not improve it? The way you do anything is the way you do everything, and so on. So why not make my laundry experience as luxurious as the life I want? Switching out my drugstore detergent for a fragrant designer bottle, buying a hamper that separates mine and my boyfriend’s clothes, laundry became a ritual I actually looked forward to. By improving my product, I created an experience; when I was equipped with the right tools, Bubble Battlegrounds no longer phased me.




