THE POOR LIFE
Hey, we know you’re poor, but can you maybe… be a little less obvious about it?
When the challenges of living in poverty invoke old trauma
It was a casual remark by my partner, he meant nothing by it.
“Yeah, since you started using the vinegar trick, no one has complained about the smell of my clothes.”
I stopped in my tracks like I had walked face first into a wall, stunned, like a deer in headlights.
I hadn’t known there had been an issue.
I do my best. The panic cycle in my head had begun. Our washer is a stackable unit affair, typical of apartment living and the cheapest model on the market. It will be here after we’re gone, serving future tenants, until it finally rattles to a clumsy halt and is replaced with another just like it. I run cycles to clean it on a monthly basis. I do the best I can.
My partner attempted to reassure me. It’s not that big a deal. It was just a little mildew smell that got noticed a few times when in close quarters working on a machine. Don’t worry about it.
I swallowed it down. Okay.
He was getting ready for work. He needed my help and neither one of us had time to deal with the truckload of…
