I am nothing if not classy, right, Reader. Some of you may think that word is misspelled, and there’s an unnecessary CL at the beginning of it, but either way. I’m one, the other, or both at times.
And it’s that very class that came into play when I was staying at my purrty resort in Turks a couple-a weeks ago.
We were having a little struggle to get all our damp things to dry out for the next day’s use.
Every morning was slipping into a wet corn husk. Nothing ever dried out unless it was in the hot-hot-hot afternoon sun and not re-wetted after.
But once we rinsed all the salt & chlorine out of our suits, it was back to damp again, and stayed damn two days later.
So we made a hillbilly clothes line out of our jalousie windows, the hope being the breeze would blow them around and through them and dry them out.
It added a certain panache to the place.
If the definition of “panache” is “trashing up the pretty views.”
Except. We weren’t the only ones adding panache.
On the way to our room there were several doors that had a whole slew of laundry hanging off their rails on the common walkway.
We* were much more considerate. We hung ’em on the inside.
*I’m using the collective “we” but it was mostly just me. I say “mostly” to imply it may have also been my roomy, but it also may not have been, so we’ll just leave it at that and share the blame.
Need to class up your place, Reader? Invite me over. I’ve got some undies I can hang out to dry.