Read Online The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug by Jennifer L. Hart - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer L. Hart
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fear of my wrath should they try to pirate a load of wash. After one particularly memorable rant, where I’d dubbed myself the Laundry Hag, Neil had immediately gone to work on a new sign, this one hand painted on a huge slab of slate. Penny handed me the broom, but returned to read the sign out loud.
1. Thou shall separate thy whites (i.e. socks, undergarments) from thy colored clothes.
2. Thou shall not mix thy sheets with thy towels.
3. Honor thy (my) lint screen and keep it free of crud.
4. Thy workout clothes must be washed with thy towels not my new white top.
5. Empty thy pockets of gum, Chapstick, baseball cards, wallets, keys, candy, Swiss army knives, and all other pocket flotsam or thou will evoke the wrath of the Laundry Hag.
6. Thou shall not mess with the water temperature settings without my permission.
7. Thou must remove clothes from the washing machine in a timely manner, i.e. before the plague of mildew sets in.
8 .If thou are confused about liquid vs. powdered detergent, ASK!”
“Cute, if a bit blasphemous.” Penny smiled at me, her hands propping up her lower back in classic pregnant woman repose.
I swept the breadcrumbs into my dustpan. “I’m pretty sure God has a sense of humor. How else could you explain Yanni?”
“Gotcha,” Penny grinned and I felt the first tentative string of friendship tether us together. Maybe this wouldn’t, as Josh liked to say, totally bite.
“When’s dinner?” Neil emerged from the garage and asked.
I sighed as I dumped the remainder of the breadcrumbs into the trash. “Gonna be late. I need to run to the store and buy more breadcrumbs for meatloaf.”
Neil groaned. “They’re predicting six to eight inches of snow tonight. The stores are going to be mobbed. You might get back here by breakfast.”
“You got any bread? That’s what I use in my meatloaf recipe.”
Neil’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, why don’t you try that Maggie? We never did have lunch and I’m starving.”
But it won’t be the same as Grandma Irma’s, I wanted to whine. I held my tongue though, since Neil’s missing lunch was due to my need to investigate the dead bird and my brother’s appearance.
“It’s good to try new things.” My face felt stiff as I said the words.
“How ‘bout I cook and you take a break?” Penny said and my spine stiffened. There were three things in life that I was proprietary about to the point of hoarding. My husband, my romance novels and my kitchen. Leo was the only person I allowed to cook in my kitchen because he respected my system.
“Sounds like a plan,” Neil said and smiled at Penny, who smiled back. I looked at my brother’s pregnant girlfriend and felt our string of friendship snap like worn out dental floss.
Six
T he ringing telephone jarred me awake the next morning. I rolled off the air mattress and my knees hit the living room carpet eight inches below. Neil groaned, as the motion had jostled the bed, and then rolled over. It had been a lousy night for both of us. I’d been in a mood before dinner and the fact that Penny’s meatloaf was truly fabulous, only soured it further. Josh, the little wisenheimer, had indeed made me a Playlist for my exercise regime, dubbed Mom’s Old Fogy Music. Dire Straits is not fogy music.
I scrambled for the kitchen and picked up in the middle of the third ring. The clock on the stove read 5:58. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Phillips?” This is Mrs. O’Toole. We’re calling in the phone tree, for a two hour delay.” Mrs. O’Toole seemed as perturbed by the early hour as I did. The Superintendent of our district was a nut, afraid that Big Brother was watching his every move and refused to upgrade to an automated emergency system. So we had to do the phone tree thing in alphabetical order every stinking time there was a snow delay. To top it off, he always put us on a two hour delay first, even if Rudolph was needed to see through the soup, so we had to do it twice.
“Do you know who
1. Thou shall separate thy whites (i.e. socks, undergarments) from thy colored clothes.
2. Thou shall not mix thy sheets with thy towels.
3. Honor thy (my) lint screen and keep it free of crud.
4. Thy workout clothes must be washed with thy towels not my new white top.
5. Empty thy pockets of gum, Chapstick, baseball cards, wallets, keys, candy, Swiss army knives, and all other pocket flotsam or thou will evoke the wrath of the Laundry Hag.
6. Thou shall not mess with the water temperature settings without my permission.
7. Thou must remove clothes from the washing machine in a timely manner, i.e. before the plague of mildew sets in.
8 .If thou are confused about liquid vs. powdered detergent, ASK!”
“Cute, if a bit blasphemous.” Penny smiled at me, her hands propping up her lower back in classic pregnant woman repose.
I swept the breadcrumbs into my dustpan. “I’m pretty sure God has a sense of humor. How else could you explain Yanni?”
“Gotcha,” Penny grinned and I felt the first tentative string of friendship tether us together. Maybe this wouldn’t, as Josh liked to say, totally bite.
“When’s dinner?” Neil emerged from the garage and asked.
I sighed as I dumped the remainder of the breadcrumbs into the trash. “Gonna be late. I need to run to the store and buy more breadcrumbs for meatloaf.”
Neil groaned. “They’re predicting six to eight inches of snow tonight. The stores are going to be mobbed. You might get back here by breakfast.”
“You got any bread? That’s what I use in my meatloaf recipe.”
Neil’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, why don’t you try that Maggie? We never did have lunch and I’m starving.”
But it won’t be the same as Grandma Irma’s, I wanted to whine. I held my tongue though, since Neil’s missing lunch was due to my need to investigate the dead bird and my brother’s appearance.
“It’s good to try new things.” My face felt stiff as I said the words.
“How ‘bout I cook and you take a break?” Penny said and my spine stiffened. There were three things in life that I was proprietary about to the point of hoarding. My husband, my romance novels and my kitchen. Leo was the only person I allowed to cook in my kitchen because he respected my system.
“Sounds like a plan,” Neil said and smiled at Penny, who smiled back. I looked at my brother’s pregnant girlfriend and felt our string of friendship snap like worn out dental floss.
Six
T he ringing telephone jarred me awake the next morning. I rolled off the air mattress and my knees hit the living room carpet eight inches below. Neil groaned, as the motion had jostled the bed, and then rolled over. It had been a lousy night for both of us. I’d been in a mood before dinner and the fact that Penny’s meatloaf was truly fabulous, only soured it further. Josh, the little wisenheimer, had indeed made me a Playlist for my exercise regime, dubbed Mom’s Old Fogy Music. Dire Straits is not fogy music.
I scrambled for the kitchen and picked up in the middle of the third ring. The clock on the stove read 5:58. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Phillips?” This is Mrs. O’Toole. We’re calling in the phone tree, for a two hour delay.” Mrs. O’Toole seemed as perturbed by the early hour as I did. The Superintendent of our district was a nut, afraid that Big Brother was watching his every move and refused to upgrade to an automated emergency system. So we had to do the phone tree thing in alphabetical order every stinking time there was a snow delay. To top it off, he always put us on a two hour delay first, even if Rudolph was needed to see through the soup, so we had to do it twice.
“Do you know who
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