There is a small washing machine in our apartment. All the appliances are small- space is at a premium. The refrigerator is akin to the college fridge you had, you know the one that never held very many of those cheap beers you drank. I am intimidated by the washing machine and I’ve been putting off attempting to use it. It’s clear to me that I should have studied more in French class as I read the instructions with my inadequate, ½ price dictionary. I decide to begin with cotton whites- underwear and t-shirts, nothing that can't be replaced easily enough. (You can buy underwear at the Monoprix, along with cereal.) I feel a slight accomplishment as I figure out the proper “wringing effect” and the temperature (90- whatever that means). I chose the rapid wash.

Our apartment does not have a dryer. This, apparently, is not that uncommon. I hadn’t thought passed the washer and was left scrambling after it was complete. Since it was a sunny day I strung a line on the balcony. Sorry people of the 15th arrondissement- the view of my underwear drying n the breeze is probably not what you wanted to witness. Although it occurs to me that this might be why the French like fancy underwear. I always assumed it was for the art of seduction but now I suspect it is to keep them from being embarrassed to hang their beat-up, tightly whites in public.