When I first got to Camp Bondsteel, I was expecting a self-serve laundry room, with banks of washers and dryers of various levels or quality, reliability, and victims of years of abuse. Doing laundry is a bit of a pain, but I try to make the most of it; you know, take a book or an art tablet or something.

Instead, we had a laundry drop-off service. It was fantastic! Just drop off the sack of laundry with some friendly local Kosovan contractors, and three days later you get it all back, cleaned and folded. And it was better than the similar service run in Iraq by the Filipina contractors, because this time my laundry didn’t come back to me doused full of enough perfumes as to effectively be starched (this happened to everyone’s laundry, at least when I was there).

It sounds great until you get caught up in daily routine, go a few days without thinking, and then realize you have two bags worth of laundry to drop of (had to be under 15 pounds/6.8 kilos) and nothing to wear in the three-day meantime that comes before you get your de-skanked skivvies back, and you have to buy a t-shirt at the PX.

I was so glad to come home and… re-assert power over my own laundry. Need something cleaned by this afternoon? Throw it in, soap it up, turn the dial and I HAVE THE POWER!