Sundromble

sundromble (sun-DROM-bul), noun. The small, specific sadness of folding a freshly washed towel that smells so unreasonably good that putting it away in a dark cupboard feels like a minor betrayal. It arrives without warning, usually at the second fold. One moment you are doing an ordinary household chore; the next you are standing very still, holding a warm rectangle of cotton against your face and wondering why anything this pleasant has to live behind a door. Nobody warns you about it when you move out.

According to its invented history, the word joins sun, for the bright afternoon the towel dried in, with dromble, an imaginary old verb meaning “to move slowly and against one’s will.” The second syllable should be stretched a little, the way a person stretches out the folding when they do not want it to end. Linguists have never studied the word, and sundromblers prefer it that way, because studying it would mean putting the towel down. It rhymes with nothing useful, which is part of its charm.

“He stood at the airing cupboard, paralysed by sundromble, holding the towel like a sleeping cat.” That is the classic usage. The word also covers warm bedsheets that should not be lain upon in daylight, a jumper just out of the dryer, and a freshly ironed shirt that seems too pleased with itself to be worn. It can strike at any age. Severe cases involve folding the same towel three times to make the moment last, and extreme cases involve simply sitting down on the landing with the entire basket.

There is a recognised remedy, known informally as the towel pardon. Once a year, one towel from the clean pile is excused from the cupboard and allowed to stay out, draped over a chair, for no reason at all. Households that practise the towel pardon report no measurable improvement in tidiness, but a noticeable rise in morale, particularly on grey Tuesdays. Critics say it is only an excuse not to finish the laundry. They are correct, and nobody minds.

The real feeling underneath is familiar to anyone who does laundry. Smell is closely tied to memory and mood, and the scent of clean washing dried in fresh air tends to call up comfort, holidays and being looked after as a child. That is why a plain towel can suddenly feel precious: for a few seconds it is carrying a whole sunny afternoon, and a shelf in a cupboard seems a poor place to keep one. The towel has not changed; you simply remembered something.

So the next time sundromble strikes, there is no need to fight it. Take one long, slow breath of the towel, enjoy the small ridiculous happiness of it, and then fold it anyway. It will smell nearly as good tomorrow, and there will be another warm basket soon enough, because laundry, unlike sunny afternoons, never really runs out. Keep the cupboard door open a crack if it helps.