I still don’t know why the upstairs neighbour is washing, drying, and folding our clothes. My best reckoning puts equal weight on some kind of flaky desire to feel needed (she has also baked us cupcakes) and the affair she’s having with our landlord (whose wife is friend of mine). Her explanation (offered in the laundry room, when I’d asked her to please cease) is that she herself has so very little laundry; she’s just throwing in a few things of ours to make up a load. But this is clearly untrue. The woman is continually doing laundry, hers and ours.
I’m not interested in judging the woman’s sins. I have no comment on her (now openly acknowledged) relationship with the landlord. But I wish she would quit with my clothes! I’m not the greatest housekeeper in the world, but everyone who keeps house has a buried idea of what needs to be done, a sort of pulse in the back of the mind that means dishes soon, laundry later — and she’s mucking with mine. Plus:
2. It’s my responsibility to be able to lay hands on Eila’s bathing suit at a moment’s notice. There might be times when I’d rather pull it slightly damp out of the laundry basket and put it on her than have it soaking wet in the washer unable to be worn – and anyway, because it’s my business to know where it is, I want to know where it is.
3. Sometimes I need something washed quickly, and it’s a big waste of water when there’s nothing to wash it with.
4. Sometimes I pull my stuff out of her finished load and carry it upstairs and some of her stuff comes with it and I don’t discover it for a couple of days and then I feel bad.
5. She hang-dries my jeans which means they’re loose and stiff instead of tight and soft.
And finally 6. The other day she gave me 10$ for some underwear she’d bleached by mistake and then thrown out, and I don’t know what underwear this is and that’s creepy!
Why are people so weird?