While the laundry situation at the new place isn't as abysmal as I originally thought, it is still an adjustment. Take today for example. I went down four flights of stairs, plunked in six quarters, added the detergent, tried not to spill, walked back up four flights of stairs, set an alarm, watched 35 minutes of Teen Mom 2, walked back down four flights of stairs, switched laundry over, plunked in seven quarters, walked back up four flights of stairs, set an alarm, watched 45 minutes of Anthony Bourdain, walked down four flights of stairs, took laundry out of dryer.
Smelled a foul odor.
Brought laundry up four flights of stairs, shoved said laundry under B's nose, demanded a scent-identification, sniffed all laundry.
Determined laundry smelled like lighter fluid.
Commenced complaining about first world problems, whining about odors, whining about apartment, whining about laundry, whining about wasting all my precious quarters.
Decided enough whining.
Made some delicious tortellini and watched the Big Bang Theory.
All was well.
But if you happen to smell me out and about over the next few days, know that I have not just commited arson. I am simply trying to air out my clothes.