Bounced
Yesterday I found an old fabric softener sheet under my bed. I caught it dancing around the wood floor with its new friends- the dust bunnies, the discarded Bic pen and the emergency earthquake flashlight. I had been looking for a shoe.
On this gauzy strip of fabric softener a single phrase was written in unfamiliar handwriting.
Socks with No pairs?
This set me off into a panic about my life. Why would anyone ask such a loaded question? This question with no answer?
Rosie, the woman who does my laundry because I have no washer or dryer or wherewithal to get myself to a laundromat, always puts fabric sheets between every few layers of folded clothes to keep them smelling fresh. I am assuming this message came from her.
I am really hoping this message came from her.
I wanted to grab my old dried-up Bic from under the bed and scribble back, "I know. I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. They're gone. I wear these now. These 47 unmatched single socks and my armpit stained t-shirts are all that's left."
"Maybe we should start seeing other people."
Today I woke up and saw the fabric softener sheet on my bedside table which immediately launched me into a sour mood and suddenly I didn't want to talk to anyone ever again and decided then and there that I am going to start doing my own damn laundry because I don't need anyone writing me cryptic notes on Bounce.
On this gauzy strip of fabric softener a single phrase was written in unfamiliar handwriting.
Socks with No pairs?
This set me off into a panic about my life. Why would anyone ask such a loaded question? This question with no answer?
Rosie, the woman who does my laundry because I have no washer or dryer or wherewithal to get myself to a laundromat, always puts fabric sheets between every few layers of folded clothes to keep them smelling fresh. I am assuming this message came from her.
I am really hoping this message came from her.
I wanted to grab my old dried-up Bic from under the bed and scribble back, "I know. I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. They're gone. I wear these now. These 47 unmatched single socks and my armpit stained t-shirts are all that's left."
"Maybe we should start seeing other people."
Today I woke up and saw the fabric softener sheet on my bedside table which immediately launched me into a sour mood and suddenly I didn't want to talk to anyone ever again and decided then and there that I am going to start doing my own damn laundry because I don't need anyone writing me cryptic notes on Bounce.
posted by Tara Callahan at 9:29 PM
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