Tony Hendriks, contributorEvery pair of my underpants I own is now squeaky clean!
You can see through them clearly and if you hold them up to the light they sparkle.
There are no drip marks and if you were to rub a slightly damp finger round the edge of the waistband you may get a high-pitched note to resonate forth.
Line 'em up and play a tune, Orpheus of the Underpants perhaps.
So how is this phenomenon possible you may ask? I'm embarrassed to admit, it's because I've become just another man to fit the stereotype, and that hurts.
It's through no fault of my own, I hasten to add, but in the last few years I've succumbed, as many Jamaican men do, to being useless without a helper, the indispensable breed of women who are as much a part of our everyday lives as the food they cook and clothes they iron and wash for us.
I used to take care of business myself. I'd cook, wash and iron (okay restaurateurs dine out on my business; the term "take me to the cleaners" was invented by launderette owners who have bought more launderettes with the money I've spent with them) but, as my workload has increased, I have no time for such mundane matters and I've relied on helpers to do them for me.
Many of you may frown and say, "Well duh, yeah!" but will be shocked when I tell you that since being away from Jamaica for the last six months my wife has taken on the load.
Sure some men will react, "So?", but many women will say, "Oh my god, poor child!", but my point is until last week I hadn't washed a stitch of my own clothing for ages, other than a last ditch scrub of a boxer in a sink while alone in an hotel room but only because the shops were closed.
Washing my clothes
So when my wife left me (now don't get excited she didn't leave me leave me) to fly to the United States for two weeks I was faced with the prospect of washing my own clothes.
No sweat. Well, quite a lot actually but I was determined to handle my washing myself. We have a washing machine and dryer so how hard can it be? I'm not a fool nor a wimp, just an inept clot and rusty scrubber.
I glanced at the machine briefly, ignoring, as all men do, the label that beseeched, "READ INSTRUCTIONS CAREFULLY BEFORE USING!" then proceeded to look for soap.
There was none. I remembered my wife saying as much and headed to the corner shop to purchase some. They didn't have our usual brand in stock (we do shop together sometimes that's how I knew) so I set about ascertaining which was the best substitute.
I knew we use tablets not powder (I listen) so like Moses I scoured the place for tablets but found only two such boxes and the one I finally chose boasted power to clean away hard stains like dried egg and baked cheese.
"Wow", I thought, these English people have some strange eating habits and their soap powder caters for them but if it can move egg and cheese it sure as shirt can shift my under-stains.
I was surprised by the drab packaging on the soapbox.
Unlike other washing powders, like the ones we get in Jamaica, that shout from the shelf, "Hello! I'm a yellow psychedelic swirl of detergent here to clean your clothes!" or "Mmm! Can you smell how fresh I am? Like a cool breeze on a hot day!", the box I picked was rather dull.
More like a communist soap powder, "Oh come now, how clean does grey need to be?"
However I'm travel-wise these days and now know there is no Advil in Europe, there's Neurofen instead.
English Mars Bars are American Milky Ways, Pepsi and Coke are different in every country you visit and there's an ice shortage in the cold countries because they never give you any in your drink.
Still the box said the tablets could unscramble egg and cut the cheese so that's what I got.
It did a good job too, not that I had egg on my shorts or cheese on my toes but it didn't smell as nice as a usual powders do. I figured it must just be fragrance-free. It was because I'd bought dishwasher tablets.
Ugh, what a woos! When my wife returned to discover my bloomer she was most amused.
Which isn't bad as it turns out because she now feels superior, indispensable, needed and loved. I actually did myself an inadvertent favour.
Most importantly I now sympathise with Government ministers who appear inept at laundering money and cooking the books.
It's not as easy as it looks. You can't just turn a tap and let the water run. If you want the job done right get help from someone who knows what they are doing.
Tony Hendriks can be re-read at www.JamaicanPale-face.com or e-mailed and roundly chastised via JamaicanPaleface@aol.com 2002.TonyHendriks.
