“I. Hate. Laundry.” Patience grunted as she heaved an armful of wet clothes from the washing machine, and lugged them to the dryers. “Who has time for this? All the time? For the rest of our lives?”
“Patience, I will never get over the fact that you are the least patient person I know,” Margaret grinned over the pile of clean clothes she was folding.
“Yeah,” Patience said with a dramatic sigh. “My mom has regretted naming me that since forever. She says she was hoping I would be more patient than she is, but that I took it as a challenge, and she should have known better.”
Margaret laughed. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Honestly,” she said, shaking out a pair of jeans, “I think laundry is kind of meditative.”
Patience stared at her. “You’re shitting me.”
“Come on,” Margaret said, chuckling. “You don’t find any of it relaxing, or zen, or something? You have a task to do, that has a concrete end. That in itself can be a relief from the rest of the world where everything is never-ending. Plus, you are stuck in a specific place, for a specific amount of time; within that, there is no structure. You can read, you can work, you can talk to friends or watch videos on your phone, but there is an overall structure to your time. Plus,” she added, “I love the smell of clean laundry, and folding things when they are still warm. See, there is even a sensual joy in laundry.”
Margaret heard some kind of choking sound from Patience’s general direction. She looked up, momentarily concerned, only to realize that her friend was trying (and failing) to hold in her laughter.
“Mags,” she said, a grin fighting its way across her face, “you know I care for you, and that we are such good friends, which is why,” she stepped a few paces closer, taking Margaret’s hands in hers, “I’m telling you, you need to stop reading so much philosophy. It’s warping your mind. You’re not well.”
Margaret burst out laughing. The look of fake concern on Patience’s face was priceless. That expression quickly changed to amusement as Margaret leaned against the counter, trying to catch her breath.
“If you keep trying to philosophize or, I don’t know, aestheticize, chores, you’ve gone too far. Drop out now, the doctorate isn’t worth your humanity.”
This new pronouncement initiated another peal of laughter from Margaret.
“S-s-stop,” she wheezed, “you’re going to kill me.”
“Serves you right,” Patience muttered, turning back to the washing machine. “Trying to make laundry noble. How dare you…”
“Okay, I think I get your point,” Margaret said, going back to her folding. “What would you like to talk about?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Patience said, lightly. “We could talk about your birthday party.”
“I’m not having a birthday party.”
“Exactly why we need to talk about it, then.” Patience studiously placed her laundry in the dryer, a piece at a time. “We need to do something. You are turning 30.”
“That’s exactly why we don’t need to do anything,” Margaret grumbled.
“Oh, come on, 30 isn’t that bad. You spend all of 28 and 29 freaking out about being almost 30, so when it comes it really is anticlimactic. Trust me.”
“Hmpht.”
“Wow, your rebuttal to my unimpeachable reasoning is so eloquent,” Patience chirped.
Margaret sighed, knowing she was going to regret her next words. “Okay, what do you suggest, then?”
Patience clapped her hands. “I have the best idea. You are totally not going to regret this.”
Sure, Margaret thought, as Patience went over plans that seemed to have already been made a while ago, and Heidegger is easy to understand.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020