I bend down from a distance, so the outside of the laundry bag won’t touch my leg, and I put my clean hand into the bag, and I pull out one pair of stockings, but there are other things clinging to it, but I can’t use my other hand to help, because it turned off the shower with a tissue, so I have to shake out the stockings with one hand. And I see, but it’s too late, that my other pair of stockings is clinging to it, and it’s falling falling falling to the floor — the floor! — the carpet, which was never washed — and I have nothing else to wear tomorrow.
As told to Temima Shain
Amatch.
Maybe a match would do it.
I held the lit match over the bed as close as I could get to the fresh sheet without burning it.
Heat … maybe heat would fix it.
I waved the match slowly over the sheet. It burned down. I shook it out and lit another.
Intensely passionately trying to infuse the flame with the power to burn away the contamination. I didn’t have another clean sheet. I had nowhere else to sleep tonight. My sleeve had touched the bed and the bed was now contaminated.
My skirt is dry-clean only. I couldn’t wash it. I have to put on it on even though I was wearing it before.
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