Robert E. Lee angrily complaining about the lack of a public laundrymat in Huntersville

 

Write a fictitious letter from Robert E. Lee angrily complaining about the lack of a public laundrymat in Huntersville

Huntersville, Va.

January 15, 1865

To the Esteemed (Though Laundering-Challenged) Citizens of Huntersville,

It has come to my attention, amidst the din of battle and the gnashing of teeth that is our current predicament, that a grievous oversight has been allowed to fester within the very fabric of our fair town. Nay, I speak not of Yankee incursions, nor of breadbasket shortages, but of a far more insidious foe: the utter absence of a public laundromat within the hallowed bounds of Huntersville!

Can a man not wage war and maintain a modicum of sartorial decency? Must my once-crisp britches become battleflags for vermin, my shirts stiff enough to deflect musket balls, and my socks… well, let us not speak of my socks. For the love of all that is clean and pressed, have you no shame?

I, General Robert E. Lee, a man who has stared down Yankee cannons and danced with destiny on the precipice of a thousand battlefields, am reduced to scrubbing my own undergarments like a mere private! My hands, accustomed to the firm grip of a saber and the steady aim of a rifle, are now blistered and raw from wrestling with stubborn stains and recalcitrant collars. Is this the legacy we wish to leave our children? A generation raised on scratchy wool and the pungent aroma of unwashed socks?

Surely, amongst you reside individuals of entrepreneurial spirit, men and women with a nose for opportunity and a hankering for clean linens. Have you no iron in your souls, no starch in your spines? Can you not see the mountains of dirty duds, the oceans of soiled britches, the archipelagoes of unmentionables that cry out for salvation?

Therefore, I implore you, citizens of Huntersville! Cast aside your hesitations, quell your doubts, and step forward with suds and spin cycles! Let the clatter of washing machines drown out the din of war, and let the scent of fresh laundry be a balm to our beleaguered nostrils. For who amongst us can truly claim victory, while our undergarments remain in ignominious defeat?

Heed my plea, or face the wrath of a general with a laundry basket and a very, very dirty pair of socks.

Yours in sudsy solidarity,

Robert E. Lee

P.S. If any enterprising soul wishes to partner with me in this noble endeavor, I possess a sizeable quantity of Confederate scrip… and, of course, an abundance of dirty laundry.