Day two of laundry and I am staring at the same pair of white uniform pants. They’ve gone through the wash three times and still I cannot get rid of these pesky turf field stains. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not that the stain CAN’T come out but rather that it WON’T. Hear me out.
After two days, three washes and several silent prayers before opening the washer (and a couple of swear words after) I cannot get these stains out. These stains, they sit there mocking me. Daring me to try again, go ahead do your worst. Ahhhhhhh!
So knowing all that I do about removing stains and having spent hundreds of hours over the years cleaning Marc’s pants, WHY, OH WHY cant I remove this stain? Damn you pants! Stop looking at me! I’m beginning to feel that I may have met my match. I have no choice but to call in the reserves…namely my husband. Dang it, I hate admitting I couldn’t figure this out but Marcs last tournament is a day away and he obviously needs pants. Hubby is more than happy to take care of it (was that a smug look on his face?).
I spend the rest of the day packing and try not to forget any necessities for this weekends tournament. Hubby strolls in and informs me he has washed the pants an additional two times and these were the most stubborn stains he has come across. For those of you who like stats, this makes five, count it five times those spawn of satan pants have gone through the wash. While I’m sitting here secretly relieved Hubby couldn’t accomplish what I had so clearly failed to do, he drops a bomb on me. OK, dropping a bomb on me may be a bit dramatic but I come from a family that tends to be dramatic and this apple did not fall far from the tree. So back to the bomb dropping. What hubby shares now is that although he could not get the stains out after two additional washes he then decided to bleach the pants. Yes he bleached them. The one product we NEVER use because it fades the logo and quickly weakens the fabric making it that much easier for holes to develop.
He used bleach??? I’m just staring at him with a look of confusion when he hands me the pants. THEY ARE WHITE. I don’t mean end of the season white, I mean white so bright they could be mistaken for new.
Finally I find my voice. “Why did you use bleach?”, we never use bleach on his pants. “Weren’t you worried the logo would fade”. I know over the years you’ve said “never use bleach”. So why? Hubby’s response?…”well nothing was working and I figured it is the last tournament of the year and if the logo fades a bit what will it matter”. Hmmmm? He walks away reminding me to pack them.
I’m standing in the family room holding what seem to be the whitest pants I’ve ever seen in my life and wondering how did I miss the most obvious and easiest solution. I’m a veteran baseball mom, not a rookie how did this one stain take me down? As I walk down the hall heading to Marcs room to pack the pants it hits me. This wasn’t my first Rodeo but it was my first time being the Rodeo clown.