To dry for

In the olden days, before washing machines woke up to their reality, going fully online to take their rightful piece of the American Dream, people had to clean clothes another way. They had to find a nearby river fast enough to wash the grime right off. They had to wait for a downpour and purposefully get caught in it. Or, seeing the absurdity of clothes, they abstained from wearing any, in hopes a new fashion trend would begin. What’s more retro than going full ape?

Any pent-up anger, brimming and brewing, steeping and stewing, was reserved for those items with the toughest stains. Whether barbecue sauce or sabretooth cat saliva, it’s all about the size of the rock you choose. You need one that can take a beating, over and over, along with your selected article of clothing.

And when it was all over, there was no dryer precariously resting along the embankment, another sign of nature’s icy grip on the surrounding delta. You juset hung that tattered Black Sabbath tee out to dry. In celebration of a wash nearing completion, you started playing deeper and deeper cuts from the band’s least remembered songs. Songs like “Peace Pig” and “Iron Person.” You admired Ozzy’s face as the shirt retook its original form, slowly and steadily getting drier and drier.

It was an honor to be hung out to dry, baking fortuitously in the noon sun.

Are you so different than your erstwhile filthy band t-shirt? How is it possible that being hung out to dry is seen as an insult, an unacceptable position for anyone possessing a modicum of dignity? You’re exposed, yes. You’re vulnerable, sure. But ever heard of fresh air? It does wonders for the mind and the soul. What you interpret as a callous, wretched act of abandonment is actually one of much-needed liberation. Out there, along the line, flapping in the wind is a place I’d like to be. Especially now. You can’t feel a cool natural breeze from the inside of a dryer. With its technical perfection and inhuman mechanics, how can a person be expected to get comfortable with all that tumbling? You’ll dry faster than you think, but the price you pay is hardly immaterial. There’s no light, there’s no life, there’s just banging. So much banging. God forbid a ballpoint pen is also along for the ride. I thought you enjoyed hanging out with friends. How is this any different?

Let yourself get hung out to dry. You’ll thank me in a few hours. Unless it rains or a Peregrine falcon visits at a most inopportune time. Just do it before it’s too late, before you get any older.

Only the good dry young.