Who wouldn't want to be put in a machine with all your friends, spun in warm water, and then dumped into a second machine wherein you are tumble dried? Socks must live happy, mysterious lives when not clamped around sweaty feet. Tonight, for the first time ever, I pulled something out of the laundry cycle so I wouldn't shrink it in the dryer. Progress, or dissolution?
When you are made warm, you should be folded.
Laundry is a just god.
Blogagaard Loves to Ponder
About Me
- David Oppegaard
- St. Paul, Minnesota
- I am the author of And the Hills Opened Up, The Suicide Collectors, and Wormwood, Nevada.
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6 comments:
Bloggy, domestic goddess.
Progress!!
My laundry is done now, but I feel, I feel, so empty. Only six more days till the next laundry night!
This post was poetic, Dave. I have to think Richard Brautigan, wherever he might be, would very much approve!
Your socks are in good hands, um, feet.
Thanks, Dan! I try to be as poetic as all get out.
Brady, you're as cuddly as that fabric softener bear.
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