IT’LL ALWAYS BE THE UNDERPANTS SHOVEL TO ME
This was not forever ago.
I spilled the morning’s coffee sideways across my legs in the car, so I grabbed the nearest cloth-like thing to blot: a woven woolen lap blanket. I don’t know what that thing was washed in before it came to live with me, but the word “Simonize” comes to mind. My jeans absorbed the repelled milky nectary goo. They came off in the parking lot of a gas station, and a towel from the trunk became my seat for the morning’s drive. My underpants look like shorts, and today was sunny and warm. Air moving across my bare legs made me smile. I’ll wash the jeans in the sink tonight, and the blanket.
I carry laundry supplies, too. Regular domestic MacGuyver here.
Funny how a thing like a spill can make people angry. I spill often. So does my small person. Should I get angry at myself, at her, for having…
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