I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar

I don’t often like to think of myself as a woman or adult. Sure, I’m
twenty, a legal adult, but when it comes down to it, I would still
classify myself as a kid. That is, until now. I feel that I have
officially reached woman status. Here’s how it happened.

So far, the one thing I just don’t like about China is that there is
no laundry fairy. I hear that you might be able to coax her out of
hiding, but only for a lot of money. Being a Trescott, and therefore
cheap when it comes to things like this, I refuse to pay for the
laundry fairy’s services. So, I have resorted to washing my clothes
by hand. I will never complain about having to do laundry again at
school. Ever. Hand washing is really not all that bad, but the only
pro I can actually think of is that I’m saving some energy by not
using a washer and dryer and instead I get a good triceps workout.
Cons include the fact that it is very time consuming, I can never
manage to rinse out all the soap so I still use a ton of water and my
clothes are crusty when they dry, my shirts are slowly stretching from
wringing them out, and I have little confidence in their resulting
cleanliness.

Last night was yet another designated laundry night. This was all
well and good until I discovered the t-shirt I had worn running two
nights before. It had rained that day and there were still quite a
few puddles all over the track. (Stay tuned for a post on the track
soon.) This didn’t seem too bad until I got home and took my socks
off to reveal an incredible mud faux sock tan line. This was fine,
nothing the shower couldn’t fix. The shirt, however, was a different
story. The entire back of my t-shirt was covered in mud spatter. So,
when it came time for laundry, I was less than excited.

After the normal wash cycle (I picked this up in Malawi) there was no
evidence that I had even tried, as the shirt was still covered in mud.
Disappointed, I decided to leave it soaking in the sink while we went
out for our nightly run. (The track was dry, so no chance for a
repeat.) When we returned, the shirt was still just as dirty as when
I left it. This is where the entrance into womanhood comes in.
Against my will, I tore open the cellophane package of the toothbrush
provided by the hotel, slathered on some soap, and started scrubbing.
Yes, you heard that right. I caved to the toothbrush—every mother’s
secret weapon. It’s one of Mama Trescott’s favorite tricks for any
stain, and whenever I watch her in action, a little part of me thinks,
“Boy, you’re crazy.” But there I was, scrubbing away. And when I
woke up this morning after leaving the shirt soak for the night, it
was like magic. Clean! Either my work had paid off, or the laundry
fairy had made a special visit while I was asleep. Either way, I have
decided to put more effort into staying clean. We shall see. It’s
difficult when you inherit your father’s sweat genes and it’s over 85⁰
in the office.

But speaking of the office climate, they are actually installing an
air conditioner right now as I type this! I cannot begin to express
my enthusiasm. I am seriously excited to come to work on Monday.

Betty