Laundry Day

So this morning, I dumped all my laundry on the bed.  It was about time: the bag was full and starting to get fragrant.  I sorted it into piles: the light stuff over here, the dark stuff over there, and the in-between stuff in the middle, where I could dole it out to the light and dark piles to even things out.  (Hey, you have your way of sorting laundry, I have mine).  That task done, I scurried out the door to work.  I'll wash later.

Later, I came in the door and couldn't believe my eyes.  Today the cleaning lady came through.  (Yes, we have cleaning ladies here ... they come irregularly, empty the trash, do a quick dusting, probably say "gaack" when they come in my room, and that's normally about it).  And there, on my bed, were all my dirty clothes.  Except they'd all been neatly and carefully folded and arranged.  Even my skivvies and socks.  

These cleaning ladies survived Saddam Hussein and years of the insurrection.  I guess my dirty laundry doesn't faze them in the slightest.

And yes, I washed my clothes in the evening.