I am not sure what it is about the laundromat but I really cannot stand to be in one. The twirling clothes, jingle of change and the League of Women Folders all make me highly uncomfortable.
The League speaks passionately about other people who seem to have nothing but crazy-ass stuff happening in their lives constantly and then, I begin to notice that they blend real and telenovela characters in their conversation.
One woman turns to me to say, "He's gay and that's between him and God, right?"
I say, "Yes. Ok."
Really, I just want to do my laundry and leave - unperturbed and head empty.
A Zen Master of laundry.
These ladies talk incessantly about the one who just left the laundromat as if she were banished forever from their tribe and when she returns, they open up and give her her space back. Together, they complain about husbands, Americans, children, the weather, politicians who have extramarital affairs and the Census.
I mean, damn! Why did they come to my house so many times!
They have so much laundry that it warrants its own gigantic industrial-size hefty bag.
I wonder if The League is authentically tired of the homemaker life or if it is pure gab, a way to pass the time.
There is something in their ennui that is too close to home to bear; I think of women in my family who chose family over education and regret not having had a worklife.
The League doesn't even attempt to engage me this time; we exchanged faint smiles and as I left, I am sure one of them said, "Did you see that one? She just threw everything in a bag! Why would her husband put up with that?!"
But that is just my vivid imagination at work.
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