Fancy Underwear

I sat in my fancy underwear behind the washing machine in my grandma's tiny spare

bathroom with a dirty swiffer in hand and thought to myself "Happy Cinco de Mayo!"

I was swiffering behind the washing machine because Grandma was worried about what the movers would think. Grandma is a neat and tidy lady by nature. I can't remember ever seeing dust in her house and she religiously vacuumed every Tuesday. But she was 85 and her washing machine had broken, and who washes behind their washing machine anyway? I'm sure Grandma would have if she could, but she couldn't. Not at 85. I was having trouble at 30.

That was mostly because Grandma's washing machine was settled in a nook just barely large enough for it in her spare bathroom. Her and Grandpa's house had been built in 1952 and I think dryers weren't really that common. Heck, who even needs them in Tucson? (I have one, but I hardly ever use it; only sometimes in the winter and during monsoon season). So her house had been built with a tiny nook just large enough for a washing machine. Settled right in front of it? The toilet.  That meant that the washing machine could only be pulled out of its little nook about foot before it ran right into the toilet (which is necessarily bolted into the floor). To move the whole thing, you'd have to lift the washing machine over the toilet, rotate it, and then jimmy it out of the doorway. It had somehow gotten in, so we knew it was possible to get it out, but can you blame her if Grandma didn't want to clean back there? So she hadn't. For a long, long time. And who even cares? Grandma didn't. Until the washing machine broke.

Someone was going to have to move it. And what if they saw the mess back there?  So Grandma and my Uncle David, aka, World's Best Son-In-Law, were discussing how anyone could possibly get back there to clean. Uncle David was doing his best to assure Grandma that the movers wouldn't care. They'd understand how difficult it was to maneuver the washing machine out of its nook (since they were going to have to do it) and forgive any mess they might find. But Grandma kept wondering if there was any way. To prove his point, David pulled out the washer as far as it would go. Nobody could get back in there. They'd only have about a foot to work with, they'd have to be able to get underneath the washer too, and to top it all off, they'd have to climb over the washer itself to get there.

In the interest of being a good granddaughter, I had stopped by to say hi in the midst of the above discussion. I went into the bathroom and looked at the space he'd made. I could definitely fit. In that same filial spirit, I told Grandma that I, aka World's Best Granddaughter*, would clean the space behind and under the washing machine for her. She looked me up and down and said "Do you think you could? How are you going to clean in that?" And pointed at my corduroy, definitely-not-stretchy pencil skirt. "Well, I guess I'll just take it off and close the bathroom door." Grandma looked skeptical, but assented by grabbing the box of swiffers and handing it over.

I shut myself in the bathroom took off my skirt. I looked down and realized that today was fancy underwear day. Well, why not? I mean, what was the proper attire for cleaning behind a washing machine anyway? I suppose I would have preferred to be in old cut-offs and a t-shirt, but how often to get to set your Grandmother's mind at ease by spontaneously doing something nice for her?  I was just going to have to be a little more careful, and was that such a bad thing? No. So I squatted behind Grandma's washing machine, scrubbing up the accumulated grime in my fancy underwear, feeling intensely awkward and intensely generous. It occurred to me, as I swiffered away, that it was also Cinco de Mayo. I was sure my peers were swilling margaritas in some shady bar somewhere and the awareness of the nobility of my actions added a nice layer of intense smugness to the mix. They were dissolute alcoholics. I was a saintly granddaughter doing a good deed. In fancy underwear.

I did a damn fine job too. Like I said, Grandma is a very neat lady and has high standards of cleanliness (even if its behind the washing machine). I went through about 5 swiffers, but that floor and wall behind that washing machine was spick and span by the time I climbed out from behind it. Grandma was beaming. Now she could have her washing machine moved, confident that the movers wouldn't think ill of her.  And that was totally worth it.

*I am not the really the World's Best Granddaughter (Grandpa definitely thinks I should visit more. Actually, I should definitely visit more), but I felt like it that day.