I stared at the laundry.
I stared long; I stared limpidly. I stared with an impassioned intensity that promised much, if only…
I batted eyelashes; I pleaded breathlessly. Tender tears trembled at the tips of my lashes, and I sighed, longing.
‘Twould not do itself.
I changed tacks, swearing stormily, pouting, stomping my sockless foot (no socks left).
Still, ‘twould not do itself.
I bargained, I cajoled. I made promises I daren’t speak of.
‘Twould not, alas, take that small yet necessary leap into the machine.
At last, I threw in the towel (the towel was dirty too), and resigned myself to going commando.
I got the no laundry blues.
©Hillary Fields, 2017
Hillary Fields is a New York-based novelist and essayist. Her most recent novel is Last Chance Llama Ranch, published by Redhook books. Learn more at https://hillarymfields.com/