Red, White and Blue

Last week I had a mini-breakdown of sorts. The week started well, with me industriously deciding to wash my now 10 day slept in sheets. For anyone who knows me well, they know I prefer to wash my sheets every few days, and this 10 stretch was probably the longest I had slept in anyone one place without a cleaning-except maybe in the womb. Anyway, while we have a washer in our apartment, we do not have a dryer. This means that sheets must be done first thing in the morning or they will not be dry by night time. So I assumed. 

The morning comes, and I go to do my sheets, and I see that Sara was planning on doing the same thing. Remembering my latest effort at going with the flow, being an easy going and relaxed person, I said "hey, no biggie, you go ahead." She, of course, being a naturally easy going and relaxed, not to mention nice person said that she did not have class until later in the day, so she would put my sheets in for me as soon as hers were done since I would be in class at that time. I had class all day (ugh) but had texted Sara and asked if she would mind hanging my sheets up on the drying rack since I would not be back in time. She understood, as we had already realized that because the washer took 2 hours to run a cycle, everyone would have to help everyone else out when it came to laundry, because obviously no one could hang around waiting for 2 hours. 

I return back from class at 4pm, and automatically call out "thank you soooo much for hanging up my sheets". Silence. Turns out that since Sara's sheets were already hanging on the drying rack inside, and it was raining outside, they had to get creative with where to put my sheets. May I just say that while there was no ideal location, they suck at creativity? I discovered that they hung my sheets in the bathtub. The bathtub that everyday 5 girls shower in and had not been cleaned in the two weeks since our being there. There were dirty footprints on my sheets from the tub, there were various clumps of hair, some being of the lower region kind, and to top it off, my sheets were soaking wet. 

I flipped out. I managed to mumble a few words about consideration, and then I ran out of the house to go to Conti, a home good store in the neighborhood that I had hoped was something like Bed Bath & Beyond. I had to buy another set of sheets because at 4pm, there was no way I could rewash my incredibly dirty sheets and dry them in time for bed. So at Conti, sheet shopping, realizing how incredibly handicapped I am because I have been spoiled all these years by my mother's affection for egyptian cotton and high thread count, I find nothing but sheets that feel like canvas and have Looney Tunes on them. Nonetheless, I am forced to purchase a pair, that in broken Italian, I ask if they include a top and bottom sheet, and the lady at the counter "Si"s me. Great. I bring the sheets back home, amazed they cost 30 euros when they feel like a new canvas plastic hybrid, and realize that I did not purchase a top and bottom sheet after all, but a mattress cover that you are supposed to zip your mattress into. 

NO! I look frantically for the the piece of paper she wrote the exchange out on, so I can immediately return it, and realize that I am missing my credit card. AGAIN. I depart the house, in the rain, making raindrops of my own as I sob my way to the gym, located 1 mile away from my apartment, to try to find my credit card, thinking this is the last place I used it, to purchase a gym membership earlier today. The man assures me that no, they do not have my credit card, and when I all but fall down under the weight of the not-sheets-but-a-mattress-cover and my own disappointment, he takes my wallet from me and looks for the card himself. And of course he finds it. My relief is somewhat eclipsed by my embarrassment that I am crying in front of the entire gym over a credit card that was in my wallet the entire time. Sheepishly I thank him, "Grazia mille" (thanks a million) and head back to Conti to return my mattress cover. I decide on the way over that 30 euro is not worth trying to find the right sheets, and when I hear from my roommates that they have kindly re-washed my sheets for me, I think that I will just rough it one night and sleep without sheets, as gross as that is. 

I arrive at Conti, and discover another thing that the good ole' USA has that Italy lacks besides a dryer, microwave, one shape of socket (yes, plugs here come in many shapes and require multiple adapters), chinese food that the sweet and sour chicken does not come boiled with pickles and pineapple (?!!), and that would be: a return policy. Yes, as it turns out, no where in Italy can you return something for your money back. Only exchange, and that is if you're lucky. Ciao, 30 euro! While we may have an embarrassingly oafish President and be known as the uncultured mac n' cheese eating masses, at least we have established return policies, and for the record, I like mac n' cheese.