Trying to convince myself to pack 6 days in advance has proven a more difficult venture than initially expected. Midnight came and passed with no change in the weight of my suitcase, and all the signs were telling me that it just wasn't going to happen. As I toyed with the idea of heading to bed, Mama Lee popped in to say good night...
Mama Lee: (in konglish) "*YAWN* I'm so tired. Go to sleep soon! Oh, but there're clothes in the washer... it'll be done in a half hour. Put it in the dryer and set it for 20 min. and hang-dry when it beeps, ok? Good night!!"
How I was going to obey both her command to sleep and finish the laundry escaped me. But the task was simple enough, and as she has put up with me for the past 19 years, I was happy to do what little I could.
~25 minutes later, the washer beeps and I shuffle over to the laundry room. I pop open the lid, stick my hand in, and out comes... a pen with a handful of my brother's tennis shirt. Not just any pen, but one of the pens Papa Lee had my aunt specially send over from the motherland.
First reaction: "Hehe... it's Abba's pen." Second reaction: "uh... oh."
Uh... oh: the sound made when one discovers black ink spots covering every single article of clothing in a batch of laundry.
This is the reason why I'm still up at 4 am on a Monday morning with thumbs and pointers destroyed by Clorox Bleach Pen and slathered with Vaseline. Also why I've had to type this entire blog with the last 3 digits on each hand. And also why I can't sleep due to the noxious fumes of one-too-many a spot cleaner floating through my air. Woe is me.
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