the washmaiden's tale

as i was folding laundry this evening, i noticed that many of my possessions now have lovely bleached-out spots on them. closer inspection has revealed that, so far, only nonessential items have been carefully selected for this destruction. naturally, i began to explore possible causes for this phenomenon. such mundane excuses as me continually doing wash after one of my roommates has used bleach were quickly discounted by the observation that only one of them ever uses bleach (so rationally the other ought to have the same problem as myself) and neither of them have streaky possessions. furthermore, last year i experienced the same problem in an entirely different washing machine in an entirely different state; i was the only one to use this machine for several months and never put bleach in it. now, it could just be that i have a sad inability to do laundry, and i have all sorts of concerns for my future if i do in fact lack this most basic of skills. deep, deep down, however, i know that there is another explanation.

the laundry gremlins have it out for me. yes, the laundry gremlins. noting else satisfactorily explains how i alone am victim of such abuse. nothing else explains the deliberate care taken to destroy only those items that i do not (should not...) wear in public, or how the curse has followed me across the country, or why i am only missing a single sock (because gnomes, obviously, would hoard more socks). it's decidedly the gremlins. i'm still working out the nasty logic behind their, well, nastiness, but when you hit the right solution it just feels right and this is it. i suspect that the visiting cousin of last year's dishwasher gremlin stowed away in my laundry basket one fine day and that, as they say, was that. there is even evidence that either a) his* cousin is actually up for a visit now or b) he is, on recommendation from his therapist, reconnecting with the family heritage because our dishwasher is decidedly acting up. that is, until my father comes to fix it, at which point it always works perfectly. but that's another story. and, actually, i see from the clock that anything further on this tale will have to wait until another day because i now have slightly less than five hours left in the night before i have to be at work. gremlins, i tell you, gremlins.

*of course it's male, you dummy. female gremlins, sick to death of gender stereotyping, generally make a point of sticking to such things as cars, computers, and financial institutions.