The house we moved into when I was eight had a truly fascinating feature: a door in the second floor hall. When you lifted it up you were staring down a long tube. We soon learned that it was a laundry chute and emptied into a cabinet in the pantry where the washer and dryer were located. Needless to say, we spent a lot of time daring one another to go down it, especially since we had been sternly forbidden to do so. I was too big and cowardly to try, but I am pretty sure one of my little sisters tried it out. But the chute was a great place to throw a sibling’s toy or shoe. No one ever thought to paw through the laundry to find a missing object, so it remained missing for up to a week.
I never did the laundry, but I always had to fold the dried clothes and linens. We had a large dining room table, and the clean wash was piled up on it waiting for me. I can remember coming home from school to be confronted with a gigantic pile. At least it smelled better than the pile that had accumulated in the chute!
I did have to do a lot of ironing, however. But ironing deserves a post of its own. I will get to it tomorrow. (Just as I did with the ironing!)