I like books.


I live in a small town and enjoy writing about the inhabitants. I spend most of my time perusing through used book stores looking for that one great book that I don't have; consequently, I have rooms filled with books. I am a book addict.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Watch your whites.

I wish that I could zap my fingers or twitch my nose and all the clothes be washed. It seems to me, and I’m sure I am not alone, you see, clothes grow in population on wash day. I swear my closet is bare, my drawers are bare, but when I wash clothes, there seems to be more clothes than I ever remember owning. I think they are reproducing behind my back. My green shirt and blue shirt, well they got together and made a lime shirt.

I fold clothes and find these strange washcloths, not white, not blue, but somewhere in between and I think where did it come from, did I bleach a blue one to get this one, and then day to day, I look for that different colored cloth and it never shows up, until, wash day, and there it is.

And there are those clothes that I know we didn’t use, or the sheets that just appear in the wash. I think, I may be wrong, but I think at night, the clothes, well they get off the hangers and slide over to the basket, and the sheets, well they do that to. Some nights, I lie awake thinking that maybe while the lights are off, the sheets and pillow cases are laughing at me, because they know that wash day, I will find those mutinous cottons, having jumped closet and landed in the basket. Is it to get back at me for not use fabric softener, or for not folding neat corners? Cotton, they make you think they are all soft and willing to belong to you, but they are not, they are rebellious and because we plucked them out of their little hulls and weaved them into cloth, they are out to get us. Watch, on wash day, you’ll see. And no, I am no paranoid.


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