at the laundromat

at the risk of being unfairly charged with libel, i’ll change the names here to protect the guilty. on the evening of the laundry drenching, charlie and i went into town to “smith’s wash-n-dry” to dry said laundry. “smith’s” would be better called “smith’s washing machines that don’t work and dryers that never get clothes beyond damp” but i suppose they couldn’t fit that on the sign. so i split my load between two dryers, put in about twenty seven dollars worth of quarters, which bought me thirty two minutes per dryer, and then took charlie off to macdonalds.

as a general rule, the french fries at the macdonalds here in town are slightly burnt and the burgers are very lopsided, and anyway, i wasn’t really in the mood for fatburger. so i went to the only chinese restaurant in town, aptly named something like, “chinese food.” if you’re ever in my town and want chinese food, you better have your own high chair and carry lots of cash, because “chinese food” is not equipped to serve anyone normal. or am i the only mother of a two year old in kentucky who doesn’t normally carry around a wad of bills?

so we got our leaning tower of double cheeseburgers and headed back to the laundromat where we found our two loads not even remotely close to dry. i wish i could say i was surprised, but frankly, i think i could probably dry my clothes faster by blowing on them if it wouldn't give me an aneurism in the process. so we killed time while waiting for the dryers by blatantly disobeying the sign that instructs patrons, "do not play with the laundry carts." when i got too tired to whiz charlie around the room in a wheeled cart any more, he climbed up into the driver's seat of an arcade game that he likes because it makes him feel like he's a drivin' man, and i passed the time by pacing and glowering impotently at the dryers. i was deeply immersed in this activity when i swore i heard a meow. this being the second time in a month that i had meowing hallucinations, i was seriously considering getting a cat scan. no pun intended. but i kept hearing it. and it sounded like a distressed kitten. so i began to search for the source. as if by magic, now that i actually had something to do, my laundry because suddenly dry as a bone. but i was determined to find the kitten. so i kept searching and calling, "kittykittykitty," to charlie's great amusement. i was about to give up, when i saw a small black streak run into the island of malfunctioning washers in the middle of the place. i took charlie's burger that he wasn't eating and went to try to entice the kitten out, ignoring the voice in my head that told me that if i brought another stray home, joe was going to make me sleep out on the porch with it.

when i was a kid, i had a painting of a stray kitten sitting surrounded by litter next to what appeared to be the big top tent at a dilapidated circus. this kitten had a tiny body and a huge head, like japanese animation characters, but with giant yellow eyes, it was the very soul of sadness. as a child, this picture filled me with the almost irrepressible urge to cry. the kitten at the laundromat could have been the model for this painting. it wouldn't come to me, but looked at me with huge, yellow eyes that spoke volumes of despair. it ran from me out the door into the rain, and no amount of calling would bring it back. so i left my burger, crumbled into bits, just inside the door of the laundromat, and drove home with charlie in the passenger seat and melancholy in my heart.