A beard and a tutu

One setback to our new set up on West Johanna Street was our lack of a hook up for a washer and dryer.  When Rob and I split up domestic responsibilities, I took on the job of going to the nearby laundromat.  I was in graduate school and I figured that while I was waiting for each load I could get some reading done.  Most Sundays (unless we were out of town, in which case we brought our laundry with us and burdened our hosts with a few loads), I would head out to wash my dirty laundry in public.

In the end, I got very little reading done on those trips.  It turned out that many of the families of the students I taught also liked to come to this same laundromat on Sundays.  I would talk to parents about how their children were doing in school, getting the chance to practice my Spanish as I folded Rob's undershirts or my pajamas. 

One day, as I dragged three large laundry bags from my car to the bench inside the 'washateria', it wasn't a parent nor a student I saw.  It was someone even more familiar around Austin--Leslie.  He was sporting a leather vest over a bare, leathery chest and a pink tutu.  His cowboy hat tipped over his eye and his heels clicked as he walked toward me.

"There she is!" he said in his scratchy yet jovial voice.  I smiled and laughed a little.  "I've been looking for you," he continued.

"Oh, really?" I snickered as I hoisted my santa-size bag over my shoulder and pulled the door open.  I'd seen Leslie around the neighborhood several times. Rob had even spotted him checking out the dryer we'd put out on our curb. But we had never spoken.

"You look like someone who would like to drive me to H.E.B," he said flirtatiously.  Leslie followed me as I took my usual seat on the bench. I recognized a few families inside the laundromat and I wondered what they were thinking when they saw la maestra walk in with this scantily clad, bearded man.

"Sorry, Leslie, I have a lot of laundry to do," I apologized as he plopped down next to me, close enough for me to get a good look at the wear that walking the streets in the Texas sun has had on his body. 

"I have an idea."  Leslie didn't give up easily. "Put your wash in, drive me to H.E.B., and when you come back, your clothes will be ready for the dryer."

His plan had few flaws.  His supermarket destination was less than a 5 minute drive away.  I'd be back before the first cycle was complete.  "My husband doesn't like for me to leave his clothes unattended. I need to stay here to keep an eye on everything. Sorry, Leslie," I lied.

Leslie laughed as he stood up.  "You know what? You're right.  You leave your undies in that washing machine and you never know what man might be wearing them around Austin tomorrow!"  As he jauntily left to find a more willing chauffeur, his tutu bounced like that of a ballerina, exposing his black thong and tan buttocks to all.

After a little over a year of trips to the laundromat, Rob and a carpenter/handyman, Dave, put in a washer/dryer hook up in a nook just outside our new bathroom.  After much deliberation and research, we bought the most beautiful front-loading set I've ever seen.  While I am ever so grateful each time I can do a load of laundry in my very own home, I must admit that I do sometimes miss the company I enjoyed on the corner of Oltorf and S 5th streets. I have yet to find another place where I can mingle in Spanish, get some household chores done, and chat with cross-dressing, local celebrities.