Laundry Wars

    The laundry wars have recommenced after a four-month truce.  Translated:  the shop office laundry set-up has been invaded by my mother.

    For the four months she was puzzled about where laundry operations had moved, I had the front line all to myself.  But now, she has gradually moved in and resumed resorting of my efforts.
 
    In the interest of peace, I met her halfway as she delivered the washed cougar towels from John’s house by providing an empty basket for their deposit.  I even unloaded the dry jeans and put the wet towels in the dryer—minus the two odorous, stained, unwashed cleaning rags that were wound up with the clean towels.  And I held my tongue as she started to resort the dirty laundry, undoing my previous efforts.  Our sorting ideas differ, along with our perceptions of color. 

    As I walked back to our house with the load of clean jeans for her to fold, my emotional state was fraught with tension.  It appears that I am not immune to territorial invasions.  And I don’t want to see any more of my clothing go missing in action.