In Defense of Men
Alright, I freely admit that I do not wash the family clothes as often as my wife and certainly as often as I should. But after all, there are all those dainty lady-things that I could mess up and face the penalty of being banned from the bedchamber.
Thank you to all my wonderful mother-wife-friends who let me know about all those commercial products that 100% of the time will remove stains from bacon grease to motor oil. I know about those … well, generally, at least. Around our house, we use LA’s Totally Awesome Prewash and Stain Remover. No laughing. That it is the name, and it is a dollar at the Dollar Store. The wives of Coulter Parkway swear by it.
Usually, when food jumps on to my shirt, I just get up from the supper table, walk back to the laundry, grab LA’s Totally Awesome Prewashand Stain Remover, and commence to spraying the hell out that stain on my Orvis shirt. In the essence of truth, this controversial Orvis shirt is not the only garment in my closet with stains on it.
I don’t know why men seem to get more stains on their clothes than women, but it seems to be the case. Back before the quarantine, when I was playing billiards at the clubhouse every Wednesday, at least two-thirds of the guys had shirts with visible grease stains on them.
But my new Orvis shirt had two or three grease spots about the size of a lettuce leaf right on the front of the shirt. I was embarrassed that I had stained it right after buying it at a 70% off sale (the only way my wife will allow me to buy Orvis stuff). So, I quit hanging that shirt up with my other 70% off-shirts, folded it, and put it on the shelf of shame where all my folded-up sweaters have gone to die. The ones I will likely never wear again. You know the ones—the ones you cannot bear to give to Goodwill, although the last time they fit you was ten years ago after that crash diet.
My beautiful 70% off Orvis shirt was like a Steven King demon threatening to haunt me in retirement. It was so bad that I could not bring myself to look at the hundreds of Orvis catalogs that filled my mailbox. I was desperate. And desperate times call for extreme measures, so I implemented the atomic-option I had been thinking about since the last time I wore that shirt to Costco with stain for the world to see.
So, if there is a beloved shirt in your closet that has a grease stain on it that you, like me, forgot to douse in prewash before it was washed and forever set-in that stain, you too, should try my soak-that-sucker-in-a-bucket-of-safflower oil remedy. It works.
One caveat. I cannot vouch for the ability of my method to perform miracles on women’s garments made of more unusual materials than a simple cotton sweatshirt. I figure most any kind of oil will work. You just have to use whatever type of oil whose odor you don’t mind putting up with until you wash it in Fabreze the next time. I thought about using bacon grease, but that was a bridge too far, even for this redneck!