…but instead I’m going to tell you a little story. A little story about how I decided I’m not going to do laundry today.
This morning I wake up to the sound of wind & rain. The pitter-patter of drip-drops smashing upon my window panes makes me selfishly glad that I took the day off today. Wrapped in the warmth of my robe and pj’s, I imagine the discomfort that my coworkers must have experienced when they braved the harsh elements in their dress slacks and/or heels.
I smirk and pour myself another cup of coffee.
Somewhere around the 11 o’clock hour, my dog begins to give me Sideways Eye. This is her subtle way of saying, “look lady, I’ve gotta go out, and I’ve gotta go out soon”.
Peeking out the window and observing that there had been no change in meteorological conditions, I assure her we will head out during the next lull in precipitation. The dog cedes and resumes her position on the couch to snooze.
Another hour passes and the dog is now giving me Sad Eyes and Nose Nudge. This is her signal that it’s time to go o-u-t, and it’s time to go o-u-t NOW.
I oblige, noting that the rain seems to have lightened a bit. I also figure this is as good of an excuse as any to get ready for the day, and upon returning from our walk I’d start preparing to head out to the local laundro-mat. I put on my finest laundry-day attire, strap up the dog, and head down the stairs.
As we walk out the door it appears that it is still raining, but light enough that the use of an umbrella is optional. I opt to take the umbrella.
I will come to regret this decision.
Somewhere within the first block of our walk, the precipitative lull passes and the downpour resumes. Although we have only been in the rain mere moments, I can feel that the back of my jeans are now fairly wet.
The dog is soggy. She looks at me with eyes that suggest, “Look, I’ve got to go so I don’t care if it’s raining or not. After all, it’s just a little rain. No biggie”.
I will remind her of this comment later.
As we round the first corner the wind decides that it’s also time to kick it up a notch. Several notches, actually. Maybe 5 notches, if you want to be exact about it.
The umbrella I’m holding is no longer protecting my torso from the pelting rain, and instead feels as if the Incredible Hulk is behind me, pushing with all the force he can muster. It took all the strength I had to keep the umbrella in place without giving in to the malicious gales, which clearly had intentions of turning my umbrella inside out.
The dog walks behind my legs, with ears back and tail between legs, in an attempt to seek protection from the wind and rain.
After a quick squat & pee, we seek refuge under the walkway awning of the neighborhood grocery store. I take this opportunity to assess the damage to my umbrella. The force of the wind had caused the support beams to bend inwards on opposing sides, which made it look more like a gutter than an umbrella. In a feeble attempt to save the structural integrity of the device, I bend them back to their intended position and we head back out into the bluster.
The dog squats & pees once more, but at this point is more interested in getting back to the house than voiding her bladder. I walk her down another grassy thoroughfare, in hopes that she’ll take this opportunity to take a good old Number Two.
The dog looks up at me, with rain running down her face, and through eyes squinted to keep out the blowing wind, “Seriously? You really expect me to defecate under these conditions”?
Yes, my dog uses the word defecate. Doesn’t yours?
I look back at her with eyes that infer, “Well dog, you were the one who felt ‘a little rain’ was ‘no biggie’. How you feeling about that now? Huh? HUH?!?”
After standing there for a moment, staring at each other in silence, we put our tiff aside and trudge on. If we’re ever going to make it through this, we’ve got to work together.
My umbrella, weakened by the previous assault, is not faring well under the conditions. The wind continually blows and bends the umbrella into strange yoga-like positions. I am not dry in the least, and getting more frustrated by the moment. Since the umbrella is now causing more problems than it is helping, I close it up. Walking through the wind and rain with no overhead protection, I wish I had never brought the dang thing along in the first place.
We are now in the home stretch. My pants are soaked right up to the zipper, my jacket drenched, rain running down my face, and the dog is yanking the leash in hopes I’ll walk just that much faster. But the house is within sight. Sanctuary is near.
As we approach the final crosswalk of this journey, we encounter a puddle roughly the size of Rhode Island. We look left, then right, in hopes of a safe passage route. To our dismay, there is no visible means of traversing without setting foot somewhere in the puddle.
The dog and I exchange a weary look, simultaneously sigh, and set forth. Our attempt to jump the puddle proved futile. My feet, and the dog’s paws, are now submerged in the pooling water.
And just because that’s the way adventures like this always seem to go, at that exact moment a car drives by, careens through the Rhode Island puddle, and, predictably, splashes us both right in the face.
When we arrive at our door, dripping and miserable, the dog pushes me aside and rushes into the hall. I stand outside shaking the umbrella as the dog shakes her entire body in the foyer. Half way through the door, I lay my first foot upon the cold & wet floor. Just as a rush of serenity begins to befall me, I feel a slickness underfoot.
I fall squarely on my behind.
I think to myself, “Tiles = hard”.
Grumbly and annoyed, I pick myself up, brush off my tush, and head upstairs.
Now that my pants are securely hanging over the stair rail to dry, a warm cup of tea awaits me, and the (now dry) dog has resumed her position on the couch, I think it’s best to reconsider the decision to do laundry.
Not that it takes much to deter me from this particular chore; but the laundry will not, in fact, be done today.
It just ain’t worth it.