Perhaps I have been a little spoiled in the past. Everywhere I’ve lived, for as long as it’s mattered to me, I’ve had access to both a washing machine and dryer. Sometimes I had to pay an inflated price to use them, but they were always there.

At my house in England, I do not have a dryer. I have a brand new, front loading washer (which is actually pretty confusing in itself) but no dryer. I am told that it’s fairly normal here not to have a dryer. This would make sense to me, even be fantastically responsible, if it were the kind of place where you could hang your clothes in the yard to dry. But here, in England, any clothes you put outside are more likely to catch some rain than catch some rays.

While not having a dryer does pose some challenges, resulting in selective outfit laundering (including not washing all my socks at once), it is not all that unmanageable. That is, until the day I had to wash my sheets.

Having moved from Canada to England, bring with my only one suitcase of clothing and sentimental items, I did not bring any bedding with me. I purchased all my life essentials once I got to York (mostly from an awesome store called Argos*), and in trying to conserve funds I only bought the bare essentials. That of course meant, only one set of sheets.

Fun Fact: People in England (and perhaps other countries, too, I’m not sure) only sleep with one sheet! The fitted sheet.  The idea of a flat, top sheet is foreign (or Canadian?) to them. This meant, when I first bought a sheet for my bed, I only had the fitted sheet, since they don’t readily come in pairs. Wanting desperately to live the life of an English native I tried sleeping with only the fitted sheet. And, I have to be completely honest, those first few nights were some of the most awkward and uncomfortable sleeps I can remember. I was cold, I felt exposed, and nothing seemed soft. I am convinced it was because I didn’t have a top sheet. (In retrospect, the cold could have been due to not yet using the central heating, the feeling of exposure could be from not having curtains or blinds, and the discomfort could have been from the brand new, unused mattress. But I still blame the sheet.)

It didn’t take me long to decide I needed a top sheet. I had to go to a fairly posh store to actually find one.  I ended up spending more on the single sheet than I did on the duvet cover and pillow cases. But the colour matched perfectly, blackcurrant purple. I brought home my new sheet and made my bed immediately. That first night’s sleep with my full linen set was magical. I was warm, cosy, and woke up feeling rested and happy. The Brits might have a few good ideas but abandoning the top sheet was not one of them!

But back to laundry, they day came when I finally had to wash my sheets. I had been putting it off as long as possible, but there comes a time when it needs to be done.

There is a fear associated with washing your only set of sheets, and that is drying time. What if the time comes for you to go to bed and your sheets aren’t dry? If I thought sleeping without a top sheet was cold, I don’t even want to imagine what bare mattress would be like.

I got up extra early on laundry day. I stripped my bed of linens and crossed my fingers. I began my solemn walk to the kitchen where the washing machine laid waiting. With a deep breath I sent my sheets off to their soapy, unknown future. After struggling with the confusing washer settings, I finally settled on the sports cycle, only 111 minutes, and the shortest of all the cycles.

I walked back to my room and got ready for work. I was ready to leave for work when I saw that there were only a few minutes left on my wash. I had already prepared my room for what was about to happen. The buzzer sounded and I extracted my damp sheets from the machine. I headed back to my room, careful not to let any part of my sheets touch the ground. Any contact with the Manhouse floor and all cleaning efforts this far become void. After avoiding all the ground dwelling hazards and making it safely (and cleanly) back to my room I began the intricate task of draping the sheets, like a circus big-top, across my room, for optimal drying possibilities. A few minutes and two cold damp hands later, I managed to suspend every corner of the two sheets in the air using my desk chair, the wardrobe doors, my bed posts, the desk drawers, a drying rack (go figure), and my main bedroom door.

I gently opened the door, careful not to dislodge the delicately placed sheet. Finally, I made it out of the room with the big-top still in tact. I went off to work, it was up to the laundry Gods now.

I only worked until 4 this day, but I delayed my return home, worried about what I’d find. Finally, around 7 PM I couldn’t delay going home any longer. I timidly opened the front door; I greeted my housemates, and held my breath as I ventured into my room. It smelled damp and of mountain breeze. My hand trembled as I reached for the sheet. I touched it. It’s…It’s… It’s dry! Hurray! The race against time was over! And I won! I over-compensatingly embrace the challenge of the next sheet washing day!

*I’ll tell you about Argos another day.

Note: Oh, thank goodness. My parents gave me a set of sheets (yes, a fitted and a top sheet) for Christmas. Yay! My secret fear of laundry day has forever been squelched.