Son of wet

It started raining shortly after daybreak and has continued on and off all day. What a delicious morning it was to snooze with the cats and listen to the plop and fizz of the rain. One of the quirky benefits of a window air conditioner is that the top acts likes a drum for each splash of rain.

Very grudgingly I finally got up and got ready to wade out (quite literally) into the world. My first target was the Japanese restaurant. Within several minutes a couple left, and I grabbed a table facing the kitchen and bar. At present the entire workforce is Japanese, save for a very blond dishwasher who could have just gotten off the boat from Sweden. I've seen him there for several years, and I think he started working when he was in his mid-teens. Today he was wearing a white tee with a soccer ball on the front and on the back the words, "Soccer balls are like opinons; everybody has theirs." (Several years ago, I was dawdling along the walking paths in the park and wound up behind a very forceful walking older woman the back of whose shirt showed a batch of bouncing tennis balls and the words. "Some things are meant to bounce..." Finally when I passed her, I glanced back and the front of her shirt said, "...some things aren't!")

The next stop was around the corner at the post office to check for mail. I noticed that when my Nikes touched the tile floor they made a great squishy-squeaky sound. Then I realized I was alone, so for about 30 seconds I acted like a 12-year-old and zapped the hallway with slippery sounds.

I passed the laundry on the way home and thought about the need to wash the comforter and spread on my bed. As soon as I scrambled into the house, I stripped the bed, grabbed comforter, spread and sheets, got back into the car and headed for the laundry. Once there, I stuffed items A, B and C into washers X, Y and Z. Got back in the car and bustled along to the grocery, whizzed down the aisles, plucked dry cat food, canned cat food and cat litter from the shelves, angled my cart into the checkout line, rustled the bags onto the backseat of the car, and scooted back to the laundry. The comforter, as I suspected, was not finished. Tossed sheets and spread into a dryer. Returned home. Drug in bags. Fussed at cats to get out of the way. Back to the car, again. Back to the laundry, again. Tossed comforter into dryer.

Within a few minutes a young couple entered with all their worldly goods. Took up seven or eight washers. Far be it from me to attempt to delve into the household habits of the populace, but one does become curious. Do some only wash every six or seven months? It is also fascinating to note what is used to haul clothes to the laundry: plastic hampers, wicker hampers, duffle bags, laundry bags, large and small garbage bags, suitcases, folded sheets, pillowcases, cardboard boxes, suit bags, briefcases, plastic tubs, plastic and metal garbage containers, folded towels, knapsacks, grocery bags, and shopping bags.

Just another day in the life.

PAX!