Yup, it will all come out in the wash. It’s laundry day. Not Independence day. Not Sadie Hawkin’s Day. Not even Boxing Day. (Though Chris and I would like to box things up & move into that 4th floor apartment. Oye! What a view!) It’s just a day to do the wash. Now you would think that a simple task like laundry would have no major repercussions other than clean clothes. But these aren’t ordinary days.
Up the stairs. Down the stairs. With my lungs the way they’re feeling, I surely wish there was an escalator to get me up & down that flight of stairs. Who would have thought that something that simple could make me feel so badly. Laundry and stairs.
Now I don’t want to fill you with visions of me crawling up the steps clutching my chest and heaving, gasping for breath, and in my other hand a basket of smelly clothes dragging behind me. No … nothing like that. Let’s just say … breathing … a little labored (said in my best John Stewart voice.)
It’s the little things, or so I’m told. But this seemingly little thing? Not so little. But hey … on the bright side. I’ve got clean clothes!