Dirty Laundry

You may as well paint a scarlett letter on my chest. I have cheated in the worst lanundry way possible.

At the bottom of my building is a laundry man. He washes clothes and says hello to me and has an adorable 2 year old daughter who takes off her pants and runs around the building. I like this man. I like his presence and his cheery smile and his laundry hanging out in the street in the mornings.

For the last few months I have gotten myself into a laundry routine which does not involve this man. I take my delicate washing to a place where you pay per item and my normal washing to a place where you pay per kilo. I don't know why I do this. I have no explaination. It is just the way things have happened.

4 TIMES this week the building laundry man has seen me entering and exiting with my dirty laundry (both shifts) and now my clean laundry (both shifts.) Each time his smile becomes a little terser, his daughter doesn't wave to me anymore, and he glares at the laundry with a hate and scorn I have come to fear.

It has gotten so bad that tonight I attempted stuffing my clean clothes inside of my shirt, and yesterday with shift one I loitered for an extra 10 minutes on the corner waiting until laundry man was gone and I wouldn't be spotted with my sullied washing. He still glared at me looking to my clean clothes and then to my face with questioning eyes. And the thing is I don't have an answer. I don't know why I've cheated on him in the one way that could possibly hurt. I don't know why I walk around the corner to drop of my clothes instead of just going downstairs to his shop.

Tomorrow as a peace offering I will give him my bedding to wash. I can only hope that the promise of my flowered blanket will wipe away the memory of my ironed contraband.