I’ll just tell y’all flat out—washday isn’t my favorite. In my Champagne Style imagination, a truck pulls up to the house weekly and a uniformed laundry employee cheerfully collects my sacks of jeans, sheets, towels, shirts, and blouses, and whisks them off to laundry land. Once they’ve worked their magic, they leave last week’s clean and freshly pressed batch in neat, paper-wrapped packages tied up with strings on the front porch. When I come out of it, I realize I actually have