The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug

together was not for fitness purposes.
    “How y’all doing?” Penny glided from the hallway, greeting Kenny and Josh with a warm smile. She turned up the heat for Neil and I clenched my molars together.
    Be nice. My mother’s voice cautioned. But still, this tart was eyeing my husband, again and I didn’t like it at all, especially when she was supposed to be with my brother.
    “Where’s Marty?” I stepped in front of Neil and Penny shifted her focus to me.
    “Out in the garage, looking for something he needs to fix the shower in the camper.”
    “Excuse me,” Neil practically shoved me aside in an effort to keep Marty from rearranging his entire tool chest.
    After clearing my throat, I introduced Kenny and Josh to Penny, and then asked the room what they’d like for dinner. Josh shrugged and Kenny murmured an "I dunno." Typical, so I shuffled over to the pantry to search its contents.
    “Can I do anythin’?” Penny drawled from behind me. The g was lost in her accent.
    I closed my eyes; face still buried between the minute rice and Quaker oats. “Just have a seat and keep me company.” I gestured over my shoulder toward the counter and my ugly barstools.
    The boys may not have an opinion about dinner, but I needed comfort food. Meatloaf, my Grandma Irma’s recipe, Mac-n-Cheese and broccoli, to help move all that cholesterol through the body, seemed to be the ticket.
    I grabbed the breadcrumbs and a box of Rotini, which actually holds the cheese sauce better than elbows, and turned around and bumped into Penny. I dropped my armload in an effort to catch her, but she took a graceful step back, absorbing the impact as well as avoiding the mess of breadcrumbs on the floor.
    “Sorry,” I muttered. “I thought you were going to sit down.”
    “I’ve been sitting for days on the drive up here. I wanna move around a bit.”
    “How ‘bout fetching a broom, then?” Shit, my accent was deepening the longer I talked with her. I’d made an effort to lose the southern since most native New Englanders would talk slowly around me after they’d picked up on the accent. At this rate, I’d be y’all-ing by bedtime.
    Penny smiled and asked me where I kept the broom. I pointed to the laundry alcove where my Laundry Hag Commandments plaque hung above the washing machine.
    Neil had outdone himself with the new sign. Before I started my business, Neil and the boys had called me the Laundry Goddess and lived in constant fear of my wrath should they try to pirate a load of wash. After one particularly memorable rant, where I’d dubbed myself the Laundry Hag, Neil had immediately gone to work on a new sign, this one hand painted on a huge slab of slate. Penny handed me the broom, but returned to read the sign out loud.

    1. Thou shall separate thy whites (i.e. socks, undergarments) from thy colored clothes.
    2. Thou shall not mix thy sheets with thy towels.
    3. Honor thy (my) lint screen and keep it free of crud.
    4. Thy workout clothes must be washed with thy towels not my new white top.
    5. Empty thy pockets of gum, Chapstick, baseball cards, wallets, keys, candy, Swiss army knives, and all other pocket flotsam or thou will evoke the wrath of the Laundry Hag.
    6. Thou shall not mess with the water temperature settings without my permission.
    7. Thou must remove clothes from the washing machine in a timely manner, i.e. before the plague of mildew sets in.
    8 .If thou are confused about liquid vs. powdered detergent, ASK!”

    “Cute, if a bit blasphemous.” Penny smiled at me, her hands propping up her lower back in classic pregnant woman repose.
    I swept the breadcrumbs into my dustpan. “I’m pretty sure God has a sense of humor. How else could you explain Yanni?”
    “Gotcha,” Penny grinned and I felt the first tentative string of friendship tether us together. Maybe this wouldn’t, as Josh liked to say, totally bite.
    “When’s dinner?” Neil emerged from the garage and asked.
    I sighed as I dumped the remainder of the breadcrumbs into the trash. “Gonna be late. I need to run to the store and buy more breadcrumbs for meatloaf.”
    Neil groaned. “They’re predicting six to eight inches of snow tonight. The stores are going to be mobbed. You might get back here by breakfast.”
    “You got any bread? That’s what I use in my meatloaf recipe.”
    Neil’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, why don’t you try that Maggie? We never did have lunch and I’m starving.”
    But it won’t be the same as Grandma