A couple of nights ago Mr. Barefoot wanted to change into his sweats but couldn’t find them. Confident in the knowledge that he was suffering from the same affliction that affects many males, causing him selective blindness when it comes to finding, oh, anything in our whole home, I opened the drawer they should have been in. As I did, I sarcastically commented that perhaps The Sweats Fairy had stolen them.
However, they were not in the drawer. Or anywhere else I looked.
I would have kept looking, but became easily distracted and forgot about the whole thing.(Distracted? Who? Me?)
A couple days later I couldn’t find my exercise clothes (I’m going to pretend that these were just one set of many exercise clothes that I own, and that significant time had not actually lapsed between said exercising), but again didn’t really think much of it. As I commented on a recent post, while I do try to keep our home neat and clean for my husband, my actual housekeeping skills are somewhat lacking.
Throughout the week, I had the vague feeling that several clothing items were MIA, but again didn’t think much of it.
Until I did laundry today.
I carried our heaping mound of clothes (how in the world do two people have so many more dirty clothes than one?) down to the laundry room, flush with quarters, and stopped short, as just over the tip-top of the laundry load, I saw a number of familiar-looking clothes strewn across the laundry-room counter.
Extremely familiar looking clothes.
I apparently had never taken our clothes out of one of the dryers the prior week… and for the entire week they sat there for the whole complex to tsk tsk over those lazy people who can’t be bothered to take their clothes back up to their apartment. I sure would have. Also, what poor soul had to touch all of my (clean, but still, really) clothes in order to take them out of the dryer and dump them on the counter? And how many people had come through there in the last week? There are 35 apartments in our complex; had they all had the chance to judge me for my laundry sins?
Oh. And right on the top of the mound? The crowning glory? Three, count ’em, THREE brightly colored pairs of my underwear sitting gaily atop the heap flagging any attention for miles around… jauntily strewn across the pile as if to say, “Oh hey random neighbor we never talk to, how’s it going?” “Oh hi there stoners across the hall, please feel free to take a gander at my colorfulness all you want!”
Oh I could have melted into a puddle of embarrassment then and there. I put my laundry into the machines, studiously ignoring all passersby, and completely avoiding all eye contact with the accusing pile of laundry, as if to say, “Psh, lazy people and their brightly colored panties! I am so much better than them and I ALWAYS remember to take ALL of my clothes out of the dryer when I leave. I would NEVER be so much of a worthless cad as to leave ALL of my clothing in the laundry room for days.”
Finally, when the coast was clear, I moved casually over to the pile, whistling nonchalantly, and in the blink of an eye, shoved the clothes into my basket and sprinted across the parking lot as quickly as physically possible. Seriously people, I set land-speed records.
And if later I hear people gossiping about those lousy tenants who suck at doing laundry? Oh I will tsk tsk with the best of them, my friend!