Cat and Cat: Laundry Day Takes All Week

laundry

I gripped the phone between my ear and my shoulder, listening to it ring.  “Hey, what are yooooou doing?” I asked, when she answered.

“Laundry.  Again.” Came her terse response.  This did not bode well, because I knew her.  If she was doing it ‘again’ that meant that something catastrophic had occurred.

“So, should I ask what exploded this time?” I joked, tentatively.

“No.  You shouldn’t.”  She wasn’t laughing.  “Because on that long list I’m going to have to add ‘my head’ at the very end of it.”

I waited.  Chances were good that if I just said nothing, she would elaborate and fill in the necessary details I needed to not make her day worse, or invite an agonizing death via-skull-fragments.

“I swear,” She growled into the phone.  “If that man puts my clean fucking laundry on that dirty table one more time, and then puts it back in the dryer all full of wood shavings and dead bugs and god knows what else–”

She didn’t finish.  Then again, she didn’t have to.  I paused while visions of her viciously cleaning the inside of the drier, after having the mandatory “throw it in the floor and invent all new ways to use the word ‘fuck'” episode danced in my head.

“Oh-kay.” I paused to pull on my jeans.  “I’m gonna offer coffee, just as an option.  In case you wanted it.  Or–” I finished in my head, needed a plausible excuse to leave your underwear in the floor and abandon the house for a few hours. 

“I would.  If I hadn’t been trying to do laundry all fucking week.”  I could hear her rummaging through a cupboard on the other end of the line.  Even her rummaging sounded fed up–soon, people would start dying inexplicably.  Locusts and Poison Dart frogs would rain from the sky.  Leviathan would surface angrily somewhere along the coast and demand that people stop peeing in the ocean.  This was serious.

“Well, if you change your mind, it’ll be here.  Along with chocolate.”

“Fuck it.  I’m leaving now.” She punctuated her speech with that odd noise that lay somewhere between a grunt and clearing her throat.  “I’ll be there in a few.”

Underpants gnomes…do your worst!

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