Stacked

 I don't know what to blame this on. Old age, twelve weeks of chemo back in 1988, vodka? I find it hard to blame it on the vodka, it was still morning when I did this. I got up and walked the dogs, Chandler first. He had diarrhea, so it's a good thing he went first. Even though he left nothing but a puddle of liquid, I did bend over and pretend I was picking it up, just so that the neighbors wouldn't think I had left a turd on their lawn. But that's not what I'm talking about here. After walking the dogs, I took it upon myself to do some laundry. Now usually Mark does all the laundry, but I was running short of shorts, so I threw a few of those in, along with some underwear, tee shirts, and Polo shirts. As I closed the door to the machine the phone rang. So on my way out of the bedroom I asked Mark to finish starting the machine.

Two hours later. I noticed that Mark had put the clothes into the dryer, and he had put another load in the washer that needed to be dried. When I started folding the clothes from the dryer, I noticed that they smelled dirty. I looked closely and sure enough, there was the grease on the shirt I had worn while eating dinner the day before.
"Mark, why aren't these clothes clean?"
"What clothes?"
"The ones you put in the dryer."
"I didn't put any clothes in the dryer. I put a load in the washing machine like you asked."
It turned out that had I put the clothes into the wrong machine that morning. And that wouldn't be so bad, if it was the very first time I had done that. But it wasn't. I had done the exact same thing the day before. But the day before I hadn't just loaded the clothes into the dryer. I put them into the dryer and then put detergent in the washer and turned that on. The more I think about it, maybe it was the vodka.