Talkin socks here. And dryers.



I installed a dryer in my laundry room over the weekend.  Lest this seem insignificant, my last dryer fizzled out in an unspectacular electrical death eight or nine years ago.  Yep, close to a decade. 

Since then, I’ve line dried.  I am a medal-placing procrastinator in matters that are of completely no interest to me.  So it’s been no big deal.  I love the smell and feel of line dried sheets and towels.  Okay, the towels while scratchy, also exfoliate those flaky skin cells that die off daily.   And right here is where I can’t resist (sanctimoniously) mentioning the environmental card about all the electricity I didn’t consume.  Oh, sue me.

But those days are over.  In only two trips to the hardware store, (one for dryer vent, the next approximately 30 minutes later for the "other" type electrical pigtail.  If you know what I’m saying, you’ve done this too) the install was complete and successful.

Seguing away:  I have two pair of very expensive sport socks, designed to wick away foot perspiration for the comfort of extreme athletes.  Not me, per Se, but in a weak moment, I was sold these two pair of very expensive socks by a damn good salesperson in an exclusive running-shoe store.  I’ve searched them out to wear first after every white-laundry day since for sheer comfort.  The most surprising dryer result is the cheap 12-pack of Champion white cotton sports socks, bought in multi-pack at BiMart, which line-dried into rigid stiffness difficult to insert my delicate feet into, have transformed into soft and cushy wonderment.  Wow. 

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