In person my doctor (who is actually generally not at all patronizing, but treats me like an equal, which was why I was so annoyed last Friday) managed to convince me to allergy-proof my apartment. Her theory was that my immune system is overloaded enough dealing with the outdoor allergens, and if I can eliminate even the tiniest source of allergens, it will help. Mostly, this consisted of two things: stop using my down duvet (weep, sob), and put a protective cover on my mattress (dust mites: fair point. I got this mattress out of a garage). I bought a mattress cover and put it on, easy-peasy. Then I had to figure out how not to freeze to death without my duvet.
The only thing I own that could possibly replace my duvet is a quilt that I bought from a women's cooperative in Rwanda. It is made of squares of lapa/kitenge fabric, all blues and greens and yellows. It is really beautiful, if rather a different look than the reds and oranges of my apartment. I can cover it with the empty duvet cover, if I want a uniform look. Unfortunately, it smelled like basement. It was stored in my parents' basement for a year or two after law school. Clearly, it needed to be washed.
There are no laundromats within walking distance, and the washer in my apartment is economy-sized (the washer-dryer stacked atop one another kind). The quilt is huge. It is king-sized, because I had a king-sized bed in Rwanda, and not only is it two layers of fabric, but they actually did put a layer of some sort of stiff white stuff in the middle (batting?). So, big. Heavy.
This is why we have moms, so when we move out on our own and do not yet have confidence in our housekeeping abilities, we can call them and ask them the crucial questions: "Mom, do you think I can wash this huge, heavy quilt in my little tiny washer?"
"Well," she said, "how full is the washer with the quilt in it?" She raised the prospect of burning out the motor, and when I said that my building managers would kill me, she said, "Why? You've been a great tenant."
We decided I should go for it.
As it turns out, drying such a huge quilt in a little dryer is a much more trying proposition than washing it in a little washer. I spent my entire evening taking the quilt out at ten minute intervals and turning it so that the inside parts would be on the outside and exposed to the warm air. Now I think it is dry, although it's hard to tell for certain. I took it out and draped it over my bicycle, more because I was tired of turning it than because I was sure it was completely dry. So... here's hoping.
The only thing I own that could possibly replace my duvet is a quilt that I bought from a women's cooperative in Rwanda. It is made of squares of lapa/kitenge fabric, all blues and greens and yellows. It is really beautiful, if rather a different look than the reds and oranges of my apartment. I can cover it with the empty duvet cover, if I want a uniform look. Unfortunately, it smelled like basement. It was stored in my parents' basement for a year or two after law school. Clearly, it needed to be washed.
There are no laundromats within walking distance, and the washer in my apartment is economy-sized (the washer-dryer stacked atop one another kind). The quilt is huge. It is king-sized, because I had a king-sized bed in Rwanda, and not only is it two layers of fabric, but they actually did put a layer of some sort of stiff white stuff in the middle (batting?). So, big. Heavy.
This is why we have moms, so when we move out on our own and do not yet have confidence in our housekeeping abilities, we can call them and ask them the crucial questions: "Mom, do you think I can wash this huge, heavy quilt in my little tiny washer?"
"Well," she said, "how full is the washer with the quilt in it?" She raised the prospect of burning out the motor, and when I said that my building managers would kill me, she said, "Why? You've been a great tenant."
We decided I should go for it.
As it turns out, drying such a huge quilt in a little dryer is a much more trying proposition than washing it in a little washer. I spent my entire evening taking the quilt out at ten minute intervals and turning it so that the inside parts would be on the outside and exposed to the warm air. Now I think it is dry, although it's hard to tell for certain. I took it out and draped it over my bicycle, more because I was tired of turning it than because I was sure it was completely dry. So... here's hoping.
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