Impossible dirt

#television #memories

Let's face it, we women like to keep dominance over the washing machine, which we understand immediatly. When we are sick we find ourselves giving desperate directions to the husband: the detergent in the hole 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 another matter. So, do you remember the soaking man, aka Franco Cerri, one of the greatest Italian guitarists and jazz players?
Advertising was vaguely surreal. Franco Cerri was standing, fully dressed, immersed up to his neck in a transparent tub full of liquid. He wasn't handsome, his face was a long, angular face, but a man of the street. He could have been the neighbor or the husband of each one of us. One like many who, however, does everything by himself. Indeed, he does nothing, because the famous Bio Presto, hand laundry detergent, works by itself.

Impossible dirt? Nooo, there is no impossible dirt.

The soaking man, a proto feminist and self-ironic model of the male who should not be washed or ironed, a dream, not erotic but very practical, of the Italian seventies. Alas, this category, even in the new millennium, has not yet been invented and laundry remains a female prerogative only.