Wash Day II

In my previous post describing an experience I had while washing the handsome CA Cop's uniform I took the time to note the care in which this process is performed.  Being that the man is still a rookie and being that a well manicured appearance is just part of his personality, the uniforms must be handled with care. Emphasis on must. I have been outlined instructions on the dos and don'ts of the "wash and wear" uniform ever since the dry clean only uniforms got shelved (or closeted). Its a labor of love, truly. I catch a glimpse of what he experiences during inspections every Sunday evening as I hang up the freshly washed and dried uniforms for him to raise a single eyebrow at before loading into the car.

Okay so now that you have the background information let me indulge your reading senses with a little happening that occurred on one such wash day.

CA Cop had just purchased a new uniform, long sleeve.  I'm talking brand spankin' new.  He may have worn it on one shift.  I was instructed to include said uniform into my wash day, along with all the proper rituals and routines that must be done in order to "properly" handle the "fragile" load.

I checked the pockets. Turned the pants inside out, buttoned and zipped, and dropped them into the sudsy-but-not-too-sudsy cold water.  I repeated the process with the top and carried on with my day.  I was ready and waiting at the sound of the buzzer and tossed the uniform into the dryer on low-heat-energy-preferred. And carried on with my day.

Half an hour later, I could see him from my position on the couch.  He entered the laundry room for some unforeseen reason and something caught his eye. There it was. My hands quickly covered my gaping mouth in horror.  A little black sleeve seemed to be waving at us from the door of the dryer. It seemed to reach out and grab his leg begging for help as he walked into the room. 

Expressionless, he looked in my direction, opened the dryer to rescue his poor baby, but it was too late.  The end of the sleeve had remained still, caught in the door, while the rest of the shirt danced around the dryer. The left arm of the shirt had been tightly twisted over and over and over and over again.  It was like nothing I had ever seen before.  He was speechless.  I was also, but for different reasons, I had to choke back the laughter- knowing that he saw no humor in the situation. I carefully, slowly, gently unwound the sleeve.

I broke the silence with a  "See, its fine!"

Placing the top on a hanger we stared.  The left sleeve was dramatically longer, cartoonish really.

I excused myself to our bedroom upstairs, I am certain he thought I was sad or embarrassed.  As I shut the door I released into a fit of laughter that gripped my stomach and made my eyes water.  Between the snorting I could hear the cop, with a lightness in his voice yell up to me "Its not funny".

Oh but it was....