Spin it dry, baby

America is the land of dryers.
Dryers. Just the word could make me orgasm.
If you don't have a dryer in the States -- and you're 55 years old like me -- boy, are you down on your luck.
Even some of the shittiest rentals have dryers in the States. And people always have access to a dryer somewhere -- at the laundromat, their apartment building's communal dryers, their mommy's house, wherever they're doing their laundry.
Because a dryer is fundamental to doing laundry in the States.
Not here.
Some people I know here have dryers -- but choose not to use them.
Imagine that. In a damp country like this.
Unthinkable where I come from.
In Italy, people don't have dryers either. But there, they have sun.
We've got what they call a washer-dryer in this flat.
Does both. Sure.
When I told one of my American friends, she said, "yeah, a washer-dryer. Doesn't wash; doesn't dry."
Ha ha ha.
Tried the drying cycle once. It involved water, as far as I could tell, which seemed counter-intuitive. But what do I know?
Clothes came out like shit. Didn't use it again.
Wash everything on the delicate cycle. That seems to come out the best.
And then hang it up on a clothes dryer in the spare room.
Need to do a load almost every day with the three of us.
One, because some of the stuff takes a couple days to dry.
Two, because there's not a lot of room on the clothes dryer. (Or the spare room).
I also drape jeans and sheets and towels and bathmats all over the banisters for all those steep steps we've got. You should see the place when I wash the sheets. Looks like a gypsy camp.
Would love to stay and chat with you.
But just heard the washer click off.
Gotta hang today's load.