Moving In

As I put the week's laundry into the washing bags for its mundane spin in the machine, a memory rose. When I began staying over at the man's, I didn't even consider all those moving-in-together issues, hurdles and whatnots. Heck, if we couldn't stomach living together, then we might as well not be in a committed relationship.

We never really discussed about the issue of living together. We never even broached the topic with the parents. And by all accounts, that was the dicey part. As I slowly accumulated my stuff in the man's room, perceived hurdles simply dissolved. The parents welcomed me warmly. I don't just live in his room. I actually live in the house.

The man's mom babied me outrageously. But once a week, I still lugged my laundry back to my pad or to the laundromat. One day she said, "You don't have to run around with all these clothes. You could do your laundry here, dear."

I giggled awkwardly. Then I heaved a huge sigh of relief. We've all heard those old wives' tales and horror stories of washing clothes and underwear separately or risk being jinxed, bad luck, the sorts. I'm so not into that.

His mom's a lovely woman of today, stylish and poised. But I wasn't going to take a gamble that she shared my beliefs. Neither was I willing to ask her directly "Aunty, can I wash my clothes here?" It would sound ridiculously uncultured!! But, yeah, even with that overt permission, it took quite a while before my laundry moved in.