Somewhere, Charles M. Schultz, the father of "Peanuts" is smiling right now and not just because of the snappy toe-tapper piano pieces "Schroeder," channeling Vince Guaraldi, cranks out for the Charlie Brown made-for-TV specials like "Good Grief! Lucy Hits Menopause" slated for later this year on Lifetime. (I think I'm making that up; I hope.)
Actually I'm thinking more Pig-Pen than anyone else in the strip is grinning like a Cheshire Cat based on an article that surfaced in the Vancouver Sun before being picked up world wide by the Associated Press.
Before this goes any further, and it's not going all that far today in the first place, no one from the bleach company called me with quiz questions and since we're being honest with each other, they didn't call you either. So, for the record, 1200 unknown, and totally unrepresentative (of us) folks serve as the data base for an awkward news item that does more to encourage women to NEVER get on elevators, especially in the summer, with men than anything else ever written.
Not intending to share too much, there is a belief by one of the people at my address that after five wearings, blue jeans aren't even close to having their own personality and character, much less aroma.
In defense of men (I go to the meetings and pay the dues so I'm in the club) I offer, perhaps as a minority view, it's women who make washing clothes so damn difficult that those of us who are bi-peds with a kickstand don't like to get involved with it. It's more complicated than religion and the consequences aren't forgivable by a trip to the confessional. I wash my Rutgers football facsimile jersey one time with someone's (who will remain anonymous) delicates and I have to hear about that for years.
I'm lying-I've never washed the football jersey-haven't worn it enough yet. Besides, in our house, I'm not allowed near the washing machine or the dryer because of the potential for mischief and mayhem. Perhaps it's like that in your house, too. Men and women regard separating clothes as totally different disciplines (I prefer long from short sleeve, as an example of an alternate ideology).
And with the technical sophistication of washing machines these days (some of them look like the bridge of the Enterprise), far be it for me to second-guess the computer chip that figures out the water temperature, duration of the rinse and exact moment to put in the bleach and fabric softener. We didn't have classes on any of that in Guy School. We now have a front loading machine that I am told gets the clothes even cleaner but for many years we had a top loader which created its own set of problems since Sigrid, like women everywhere, (except possibly in the bleach maker's survey) was always angry that "someone" left the lid up. Where have we heard that before?