I had to handwash

You read it right. Today, the washing machine finally broke, just when I was going to do my bimonthly laundry. Washing your clothes every two weeks is risky, mostly when you know that the washing machine is 30 years old and won't last too long.

I obviously didn't have many clothes left. I really, really, had to handwash. It's not like it's the first time I do it: my Minecraft shirt can't go into the washing machine. And I once dropped a cheese pizza on my white dress. 

But this time it was different. I actually had to take all my clothes and grow the balls to clean them in the sink.

I first had to clean the toilet. It's not like I live in a pigsty, but we don't really worry about everything shining like gold. I didn't want my precious clothes to end up dirtier than they were in the first place.

After I finished cleaning and filled the sink with water and soap, I proceeded to start washing my beach shirt. When it was soaked in detergent, I realized that I wouldn't be able to rinse it in the same water. The kitchen sink is starting to grow its own ecosystem and the bathing tub is too big, so I had to use the bidet. 

When everything was clean, it was time to hang it. There's a magnificent balcony in the fourth floor, but crawling up two storeys is an effort I'm not willing to make four times a month. For this reason, I've used some old pijama pants as a hanging rope in my own small balcony. It's kind of freaky.

My flatmate has called the landlady, that's not too thrilled about calling a technician. I sincerely believe this is one more step in her mission to turn this house into a time machine that will take us to the 50s. Long live Spain, I guess.