I hit the wall and slid down towards the laundry hamper, missing it by a margin.
“Ah shit, I’ll grab it later.” The man’s voice comments with a wave of dismissal.
“Betchya not.” The woman’s voice chimes in, “You’ll forget it there and I’ll have to pick it up.” She adds as she exits the room in a huff.
“No.” He protests playfully, following after her. “I’ll get it you’ll see.” He adds as their footsteps fade into the next room.
Spoiler alert, he forgot to pick me up.
But more surprising yet, so did she. Or maybe she intentionally left me there just to teach him a lesson.
Either way, I’m still here on the carpet and now sit firmly behind the laundry hamper, completely out of sight.
I watch and listen as the house creaks on its foundation with the changing of the seasons. It changes from fall to winter, then spring and summer, and back again.
I watch holidays pass as I remain against the wall, behind the hamper.
I listen to them watch their favourite movies several times over, on repeat.
I swear I can recite all of Maverick’s lines on cue and sing along to Danger Zone better than Kenny Loggins. But that might just be my ego writing cheques I can’t cash, or something like that.
I try every tactic I can think of to get back in with the rest of the laundry but am denied at every opportunity. They now consider me an outcast, calling me smelly and old.
As though this was somehow my fault I still bare the skid marks of a man with poor hygiene and the holes from overuse.
I’m well loved and only need a good washing, but the more I sit here the more doubtful I am that I will ever get that chance again.
I watch as the house begins to change again, but this time it’s different. Clothes begin to be packed up as things are rearranged and furniture exits the house. Room by room the house is being emptied until only the furniture in the bedroom is left.
After everything is cleared I remain where I have been for so long I’ve lost count of the days, but I’m not alone. There are odds and ends of items that fell behind the dresser or rolled under furniture, which gave me hope that I would be found.
“Eeeeeewwwwwww!!!” Was the exclamation that wakes me from my coma-induced slumber, “How long have these been here?” The woman’s voice inquires as she hesitantly gives me a nudge with her toe.
“Hey, that’s my lucky pair! I’ve been looking for them!” The man exclaims in excitement as he scoops me up with a grin of recognition.
“Gross!!” The woman’s shrill shouts split the air.
“They’re my underwear.” The man explains with a look of disbelief as he starts to lift me towards his face.
“What are you doing?” She asks in a screech of panic. She watches in horror as the man brings me to his nose and gives me an all-too-willing sniff.
“What is wrong with you?” She protests, taking several steps away from her crazed husband.
Who let out a strangled cough, “Yep, they’re old.” He comments, with a look of minor disgust.
“I can’t believe you,” she states as she turns a shade of green in repulsion. “I can see the skid marks from here.” She explains, still looking from me to the man in apprehension. “They should have caused an odour in the bedroom with all the leftovers in there, I’m glad you’ve learned to wipe since they went missing.”
I resent that remark.
“Okay, I get it.” He declares as he begins to leave.
“What are you doing?” She asks for the second time today.
“Getting out of here before these things stink up the place.” He explains as he leaves and heads for the main floor, with me securely in his hand.
A laugh escapes her lips as she follows after us, through the garage and prepares to jump in to the car.
“But you’re willing to stink up our new place with them?” She asks looking between me and the man, once more.
“They’re my lucky pair.” He explains, furrowing his brow in confusion.
“Maybe we buy you a new lucky pair.” She suggests with a slightly nervous look.
With a sigh, he glances at me one more time with sad eyes. “Okay.” He agrees and tosses me in the garbage bin outside the house before they drive away.
This story was inspired by a habit my husband has formed where he likes to toss his clothes across our bedroom into the laundry basket. I feel like it goes without saying that he’s no basketball star or athlete by any stretch of the imagination. So he misses the basket and does so often!
I usually end up picking it up and sorting it into the correct bin but I thought about what might happen if I didn’t. Which is what inspired this story!
Thanks for reading,
Donna Fox (HKB)