I did something crazy last night.
I'm sure you're sick of hearing me talk about the weather here, but as I write this it is forty degrees out, a significant drop from the near-eighty degree temperatures we had earlier in the week. Luckily I am a knitter, which means I have lots of woolies to get me through, but my sock drawer was sadly empty because I had not bothered to wash my handknit socks in a few weeks.
I have quite a few pairs of socks. I actually don't know how many because they end up scattered around the house and I haven't bothered to gather them all into one place. But I have always handwashed them, preferring the extra labor to ensure that I don't ruin any. Last night that all changed.
For the record this would never have happened if I had not been angry. I don't even remember what started the argument, but I needed a minute to cool back down, so I went upstairs to start some laundry. My feet were cold and I looked at my basket of handwashing and just said "screw it." I picked up the basket, dumped the socks in the washer on the shortest handwash setting, and walked away.
Of course as soon as the washer started I proceeded to have a panic attack. What had I done? Would I ruin the hundreds of dollars and thousands of hours that were represented in that pile of washing? Was I really that reckless?
Turns out the answer to that was a resounding no and even more emphatic yes. My socks came out of the wash clean and completely fine. They all made it on to the various drying racks and this morning I had piles of lovely clean socks to put away. Will I stop handwashing? Probably not. But I feel like I have a valid reason to keep cranking out socks. Just in case next time I'm not so lucky.