To the person who may have made an apology for putting my laundry out with the trash: Happy New Years!

I waddle down the stairs to the laundry room, a basket of whites so tall I can’t see over them. New Years Eve. Honestly. The laundry room should be clear. I’ve been afraid to do laundry since someone threw my last load of Nora’s clothes out with the trash. I open the door with my hip, ooh, I’m not alone, someone is in here. I set down my sheets and turn to see –

gasp – !

It’s her! My prime laundry tossing suspect.

I don’t know why, really, but I’m scared. I stand still as a mouse cornered by a cat – at the end of the room, staring at her, as she unloads the washer I want, article by article, very slowly, while I am forced to wait. She doesn’t say a single word, not “hello”, nothing. But then, uncharacteristically, I don’t either. It is silent between us in this 5×7 room to the point of it being so ridiculously tense I am stunned into a state of immobile awkwardness. I don’t mean to make it awkward. For the life of me I don’t know what to say. A million things dart through my brain including, “she must be so quiet because she’s guilty” and a quick, “you don’t know that, Lucia! Innocent until proven guilty!” “Why don’t you at least wish her a Happy New Years?” “Because, obviously it’s a pathetic New Years if she’s doing her laundry and staying home!” “You’re doing laundry and staying home” “Yeah, well I’m not pathetic, I’m reflective.” “Why not just get it over with and ask her if she threw your laundry in the trash?” “Who needs confrontation?” “You’re a chicken shit. This is how bullies continue to bully because nobody wants confrontation.” “I think I should just be friendly. Like my friend Norah said, maybe she’s doing the best she can.” “She’s sure doing the best she can to make you wait for the washing machine.” etc.

Suspect breaks the silence, “The other washer has ten more minutes.”

“Oh, I want the larger one, when you’re done unloading.”

“You think this one’s larger?”

“Yes.”

“There was talk of ripping out this cupboard to make room for more washers.” She says, “That will be such a relief because there is always someone in here. It gets really backed up.”

(is she working up to a confession?)

“Really?” I say, “I hardly ever come across anyone else. Perhaps because I tend to wash my clothes during the day.”

“Hm.”

And she’s gone.

Whew. My heart is racing. Who knew laundry could be so full of DRAMATIC ACTION?

I have a load of towels too but I am not going to wait the ten minutes for her other load to finish and I don’t DARE leave my towels down here waiting, unattended, with her prowling around So, I haul them all back upstairs again.

I put the timer on my oven to make sure I’m not a minute late getting my clothes out of the washer.

I dive into my brand new beautiful day planner and start in on my New Years Resolution which is “Make more Mischief”, not to be confused with my yearly goals which are a beautiful even 10, (1 spiritual, 3 health, 3 family, 3 work) not to be confused with my five year goals which I transfer and adjust from my 2013 day planner and – INTERRUPTED. Knock on my door. Knock on my door?!

“Oh my God, it must be her. What am I going to say? What is she going to say? Why am I so afraid? This is ridiculous! She’s just one little woman! Oh, I’m afraid because I know if we don’t get along she could make my life hell. Just open the damn door!”

I do. It’s her. The suspect.

“Just to let you know, there’s some extra time on the dryers for you.”

She walks away. I call out, very surprised,

“Thank you. That is very generous. Happy New Years.”

Silence.

I head downstairs and sure enough, she’s basically given me two loonies worth of dryer time. This either means she’s innocent and generous, or she’s guilty and this is her apology. Either way, it’s awesome. As I empty out my wash, I empty out my cache of snit until I am clean of it.

I must also tell J of this act of kindness. He was the only person in the building I spoke to about this wash in the trash business. After I told him he left a box full of chocolates hanging off my door knob with a note that said, “not everyone in this building is crazy, have a wonderful New Years!”

Ahhh.

This is the perfect way to start a brand New Year: clean sheets, a clean conscience and the satisfaction of smoothing out, folding, and putting it all away.