A largish part of mine was spent repeatedly washing and rewashing … by hand … in a babybath
[ well, okay, it’s actually one of those large plastic utility tub thingies, which we originally bought to hold ice for drinkies at Nadie and Chris’ engagement party a couple of years ago, and have since repurposed as a dawg bath ] but nevertheless, hand washing … with soap and copious amounts of Napisan …well supported … and not forgetting the bending-and-kneeling [ lots and lots of bending ], my late mother’s 1950 lace wedding dress which one of the resident felines had obviously decided made an attractive alternative to any of the somewhat-in-need-of-changing litter trays.
Given its age, and the fact that it obviously hadn’t been drycleaned post-nuptuals, and given that for several decades it was stored in the home of a pair of heavy smokers, I fully expected it to disintegrate when it hit water, but, other than the revolting brown colour of the first several rinses, the lace coat seems to have survived intact.
The boned and corseted strapless moire taffeta dress that went underneath was probably never intended to touch water, but at this stage , I think dry cleaning chemicals would be just as bad if not worse, so flushed with my first success, in she went.
The jury is still out on that one.
I’ll let you know tomorrow.