One Day in the Life of a Laundry Basket


Please not today.

I don’t want to deal with it. I am not currently holding anything. I don’t mind the heaviness of denim, the softness of flannel, or the breathability of cotton. Even when they are considered to be really dirty, I don’t take notice. The thing I can’t stand are towels. Towels are evil incarnate. They make me feel like I could squirm, even though that is entirely impossible. The worst offenders are the hand towels she uses for cleaning. The kitchen ones, massed with tainted sink water and food remains. The ones she uses for the shower, carrying some concoction of mildew, dust, old soap and hair. The most appalling are the ones from the toilet room. I am going to spare you the details of those, because I believe myself to be a compassionate object. The worst of it is, I can only sit there and take it. When I find myself in this situation, my only way to cope is to lament silently to the divine forces of inanimate objects. Hoping at least that the towels don’t sit in me for more than 24 hours. When that happen I start to smell like them. If they say in me for more than 48 hours, their tainted essence starts to soak into me. Her bathing towels aren’t too bad, they just smell of soap and her, but that doesn’t last long after a day of sitting or so.

I don’t want to smell. It is not my fault that I may stink. Most of it is not even me. I wish I was a laundry basket for clean clothes. Full with fabrics anew, emanating with manufactured flowery scents. You would think I would be a clean clothing laundry basket since she took so much time and effort into making me. Nope. I am the container for her daily soils. Sometimes she comes and showers me with some spray of hers. I always appreciate it when it happen. When I feel that mist fall, I like to imagine that I am one of her freshly cleaned clothes. One her billowy blouses or her linen tank top. Freely hanging among other clean clothes, but I am alone. Always sitting. Facing her closet. The worst of it is that her closet doors are two full length mirrors. So, unfortunately, I stare at myself all day.


Her she comes.

Praise be, it is just her sheets and pillow case. No dirty towels. She throws them into me. I become full of flannel, cotton, and silk. I am enveloped by scent of slight sweat and a bit of make up. I can deal with this. This might not be a miserable day. I watch her leave with her briefcase. I will just sit as usual. This just might be it for today. I will just have to wait and see.


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