When I was a kid I remember loving it when the clothes were finished in the dryer. For me, there was nothing better on a cold day than to pile these clothes on my bed—or the living room floor—and burrow into them, allowing the warmth to coat over me.
I know, it’s crazy.
That’s also what my mom said when she found out that I was doing it. After all, I was getting the clean clothes dirty.
I grew up, as so many of us do. When I was college-aged, I had a roommate named Ryan. We’d just returned from the laundry mat and had our clothes in garment bags and laundry baskets. On our walk back to the apartment, we were talking about childhood memories, and things we missed from the time when we were still only one digit in age.
I admitted to my childhood practice of rolling around in piles of warm clothes.
When we got back to the apartment I started working on some homework when Ryan called to me from my bedroom; he said to hurry because it was important.
“What’s up?” I asked, heading to my room.
Ryan turned to me with a grin, and indicated all of our shirts and jeans in one big pile on my bed. He winked and said, “I know that you really miss this…go head and live it up.”
He gave his hands a flourish toward the pile of dryer-warmed clothes.
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked. “That was something I did as a kid.” Did he really think that as a college student I’d be prone to doing this type of thing again?
Ryan shook his head. “Nope, I’m not kidding. In fact, you’ve even got my permission. Now go ahead before I change my mind—or they get cold.”
Needless to say, I enjoyed burrowing in the warmth of the clothing on that day, and relived a fun memory from years gone by.
This evening I went to a friend’s house for dinner. When I got home I took my laundry from the washer, and tossed it into the dryer before getting a few things done. When the buzzer went off, I put all the laundry into the basket and carried it to my room. As I got ready to fold and put it all away, I looked at that pile of clothes I’d just dumped on my bed.
Nobody else was home…
Aren’t memories of childhood wonderful?