Let’s face it, we women like to keep dominance over the washing machine, which we easily understand. When we are sick we find ourselves giving desperate directions to the husband: the detergent in the tray in the center, the softener in the one on the left, the bleach only for whites and resistant, please. And then the pleasure of smelling the improbable fragrances of the softener, from night jasmine to the little prince’s rose? The hand washing, which I have personally abolished, and the annoying duty of pre-treating collars, cuffs and stains on shirts is a completely different matter. So, do you remember the soaking man, aka…