Ugh, my sweater.

I was very productive last Sunday afternoon, "hand-washing" all of my most delicate wool sweaters (read: running them through the gentle cycle on the washer two at a time) that haven't been cleaned in any way in many months. As you can imagine, I was extraordinarily proud of my uncharacteristic unlaziness, and carefully "reshaped and dried flat" on old (clean!) beach towels folded up on top of the square card table by my parents' basement coal stove (at my mother's suggestion). I had no need for the sweaters for the rest of Sunday, so I left them to dry, checking on them once early in the evening (to assure that no cats had decided they were good for sleeping on), and deciding that I wouldn't need to worry about collecting them until Monday morning, which I did before leaving for work.

I put the sweaters away in my old bedroom-turned-giant storage closet and paid them no mind until yesterday, when I wore my favorite brown and cream-striped BCBG sweater to work. This morning, as I struggled to dress (as every morning presents another clothing struggle), I determined it wouldn't be overkill to wear my nice warm gray BCBG sweater to work with jeans (I allow myself one jeans day per work week) since, hey -- it's cold and drab outside and I just don't care that hard about my appearance.

When I get to work, I notice this strange odor in my office that I quickly realize is coming from me. I distinctly remember applying deodorant this morning, and can even smell that scent, but there is an unmistakable undercurrent of B.O. So I manically start sniffing under my arms like on a tv commercial, but notice that it's attached to every inch of my sweater. Now, I know that wool tends to smell weird when it's wet, but this is not that kind of smell, and my sweater is perfectly dry. It smells like B.O. All I can figure is that the basement has poisoned my sweater (and by extension, all of my just-washed sweaters). Come to think of it, I just thought the person sitting next to me at our State of the College address yesterday had crazy weird B.O. Hmmm...it was probably my sweater. Damn it!

Now, if you know me, you know how much I hate my parents' basement, so this situation is particularly vexing. The previous owners of my parents' house had done up the main part of the basement as a charming rec room in the 1960's, complete with bar and atrocious (though undoubtedly trendy at the time) green and tan carpet that I can't adequately describe (I'll try to post a picture sometime...seriously, it's awful). The bar is long gone (replaced by showcase cabinets for my father's NASCAR memorabilia...uh, yeah), the charming fireplace was retrofitted to attach the coal stove my father decided to inherit from his father, but the carpet remains...over 15 years after moving in. I can only assume that the smell I'm carrying around like a disease is a combination of rotting carpet padding (though after approximately 43 years, it can't honestly still be actively rotting, but just rotted), coal dust, and general musty basement. (If radon had a smell, that would most certainly be mixed in as well). Ew. These scents are not apparent when running on the treadmill for 40 minutes a day, but obviously lock into a damp sweater left to dry overnight.

I am so embarrassed and peeved...and worried.

Why worried, you may ask? Mainly because I have to continue to live in this house, which in the winter is attempted (unsuccessfully) to be heated with just the aforementioned coal stove blasting away and a system of unstrategically located ceiling and other fans. This makes the basement a cozy 92 degrees while the rest of the house ranges between 50 (or less, I swear!) and 65. My parents are not poor (they're not rich either, by any means, but the have like 0 debts anymore), but they refuse to use the house's built-in electric heating system and will reset any thermostat in the house (each room has its own control) to "off" if you switch it on. The bathroom has an electric space heater to be used during morning showers, so there is no need to even THINK of turning heat on in there either. (Luckily I can escape to my electric fireplace in my attic room and keep that space a reasonable human temperature). Anyway, I'm worried that I won't be able to make it through this, let alone another, winter of crazy. I'm worried for my mental and for my general health. My sweaters not even considered -- I think I might get some form of Black Lung disease and die coughing up coal dust.

One thing I've learned from the sweater-washing experience? Well, it's just the same thing I already knew -- living with one's parents at 26 (going on 27) is a mistake. It's just so darn cost effective.