Who steals my laundry steals trash

July 27, 2009 by barbara

barbara writes

It's Monday. In this household, that means time to do laundry. Unless laundry-washing happens on another day. Which it often does. It is the way of things. But I digress.

From time to time, folks send me photos, poems or essays or, in this case, snippets about laundry, clotheslines, etc. Don't remember where this came from, so I can only give credit to the author, whose work was forwarded to me.

I can only hope that he and his laundry basket have been happily reunited by now.

Last night, between 6 and 7:15, EST, someone has stolen my laundry basket from the “Speed Queen” on Watson Boulevard. Not the laundry; just the basket! Now, it wasn’t one of those pimped out numbers with gold-plated handles and a built-in CD-player. That I could understand. It was a plastic, orange, five-dollar item from Wal-Mart, tooled with pride in the Democratic Republic of Congo. More, you betcha.

A fellow laundry-doer, a local man in a red flannel shirt, chimed in with his two cents: the disappearance was a sign from God that I should become a minimalist. I smiled at the old sage and properly told him to go fly a kite. I was so angry, I didn’t even want my clothes anymore, so I called the Salvation Army and said “pick-up; dryer number two.”

Now, I am normally a gentle person. Some might say, a humanitarian. I have fed the homeless on three continents, sometimes against their own wishes. But to the bastards who stole my laundry basket, I say this:

May a million locusts descend upon your crops. May you be trapped in an elevator with Wayne Newton. May you live the rest of your life on a teacher’s salary. ~ by Greg Razran

May the sun shine on your clothesline today.

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