The Laundry Basket From Above.

I live near a lot of fancy suburbs. I do not live *in* any of them. In fitting with my renegade style of life, I live in the unincorporated county, where no one can tell me what to do and I am endlessly confused as to what should technically go on the third line of my mailing address.

But these fancy suburbs provide me endless entertainment.

One such fancy suburb is a rather hilly city, and they found the most glorious way to combine these two characteristics (fancy + hills) into the perfect official city slogan.

“A Life Above.”

That’s right. They actually went there. They want to make sure that I am completely aware that they are currently looking down their perfectly sculpted noses at me who is, clearly, living a life below.

If you can even call it a life. More like An Existence Below.

It goes without saying that when, perchance, I see something that doesn’t quite meet the qualifications of The Above Life going down in their perfect enclave of humanity, I notice.

(And point and laugh. But that’s beside the point.)

One such item was The Laundry Basket Above.

On a particularly rainy Saturday, we were passing through The Life Above to go to Ali’s basketball game. It was dreary. Muddy waterfalls were blighting their roads. The world was ugly no matter how above you lived.

At a busy intersection, the type that’s so busy it requires a triangular cement divider in the middle of the road, I first noticed it.

There was a laundry basket, full of clothes and soaked all the way below its nasty nasty core.

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Clothes were spilling out. There was a brown towel. A green pair of underwear. Very yanky looking sheets.

It was the most un-above thing I’d ever encountered in the wild.

So naturally I took a picture and sent it to all my friends who live The Life Above.

(Thankfully they all have good senses of humor. Or they wouldn’t be my friends.)

I also couldn’t help but wonder.

What would make someone abandon their laundry in the middle of the intersection? Were they on their way to the laundromat (which of course doesn’t exist in A Life Above) and just happen to see their favorite ex sitting at the traffic light? And they squealed, dropped the laundry, and jumped into his (or her) Trans-Am?

The next morning, we were headed to church. We have to go through this particular intersection to get there, so we eagerly craned our necks to check on the fate of The Most Above Laundry Basket That Ever Existed.

It was still there, but now a good deal more strewn, and still quite moist.

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Clearly someone or something had been rooting around in there.

Which is when we began to make up stories.

Perhaps An Opossum Above had taken up residence. Which, considering Opossum track records in busy intersections, was either the smartest or stupidest thing an Opossum had ever done.

Or maybe someone simply needed a fresh pair of green underpants. Although fresh is definitely the wrong adjective…

The next Saturday, we began the Day Count.

The Laundry Basket Above was now on Day Eight.

Whose responsibility is it to clean up discarded laundry baskets? Is it the same guy who has to clean up roadkill? Why hasn’t he been around yet? There aren’t THAT many raccoons lying about…

The Laundry Basket Above made it to Day Ten.

Maybe the Laundry Opossum is an endangered species. I bet they have to build a picket fence around The Laundry Basket Above and leave it there forever. There will definitely be a plaque. He will become The Official Mascot of A Life Above. Everyone will bless the ground that is walked on by whoever discarded their full load of laundry. THEY ARE A POSSUM LIFESAVER.

THE LAUNDRY BASKET ABOVE ON DAY THIRTEEN.

Is mold growing in that laundry basket yet? Will it hurt the Laundry Opossum? I bet flies are laying their maggot babies in it. That thing is going to be An Ecosystem Above of its very own.

And then, it was gone.

Either The Roadkill Scraping Guy finally got around to the bottom of his checklist (right underneath “Small decapitated chipmunk on Altavista” was listed “Burgeoning laundry basket on Columbiana.”), or someone said “SCORE!! FREE TOWELS AND UNDERWEAR!” And happily scooped up the laundry basket and its Opossum home.

But whatever happened, it was no longer there, and I mourned its loss.

That laundry basket and I had become close. I looked forward to our bi-weekly visits. I pined to know its secrets. All of its stories of past, happier days.

Whose back did you dry, brown towel? Whose butt did you cover, green underpants?

But now I would never know.

A week later, as we passed through the intersection and I braced myself for my period of mourning, we saw it.

Right where the laundry basket had been, there was a dead animal.

“Is that a raccoon??”

”It looks like a small fox!!”

“Go around again! We need to know!!”

“It’s a bobcat!?!”

“OH MY GOSH THAT’S A GIANT HOUSE CAT.”

Apparently it was never an Opossum Home. It was a Cat House. And when that cat returned from a chasing unincorporated mice, to cozy up into its comfortable bed of browns and greens, it discovered that its home had been stolen RIGHT OFF THE FOUNDATION, and it immediately died of shock and sadness.

A true Shakespearean tale of tragic woe and fitted sheets.

Why Me.

Dear Instagram, I know you listen to my conversations and feed me ads accordingly. I can even tell that you’re having Google read my emails and feed me ads that fit into that.

But whatever you read or heard that made you think I am the type of person to buy leggings based on how they look when I sit on the toilet – that was bad information. Very bad.

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And also – I’ve never – not once – emailed or discussed boiling my family for a delicious Spring Stew.

IMG_4EF9BDB3AF33-1The wine glasses are a nice touch. Stew is always better when steeped in wine. But why are there two wine glasses and a beer bottle for one mother and two small children? If in fact this isn’t just a slow cooker advertisement?

I don’t know which is more offensive – the fact that Barnes and Noble wants my baby to get to coding, or that Amazon thinks I care about my Cat’s IQ. And also I’m pretty sure all cat’s IQs are high enough to fake the test altogether so good luck getting the accurate number you so desire.

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And there’s nothing quite like looking up a recipe and getting an ad for toe mushrooms underneath it.

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But let’s move onto other sightings.

I spotted this reusable bag the other day, if someone forgot to bring one.

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Noah’s school books are constantly testing my ability to keep my serious teacher face on and not laugh like a Junior High boy. I’m pretty sure it’s planned that way to test my holiness.

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In a related section…

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And then there’s Fran and her impressively sized..wishes.

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Can we please leave the bear fat-shaming out of the first grade?

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Noah never catches the same things I do.

But this time, he had his own conclusions of what they were going for. He added a tiny protrusion to the drawing, then informed me that the page was wrong because “pooping” doesn’t begin or end with the ch blend.

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I get it, Noah. I get it. What kid would assume that bear was supposed to represent crouch.

And finally, we have an issue of local politics we need to discuss.

I don’t know why I follow the city council on Instagram, but I do.

And because of this, I now do indeed know.

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Yelling loudly in public.

Is illegal.

Now. I’m as much against loud noises as the next guy. Probs way more. But what happened to living in a free country?

And if  I see that you’re about to get run over by a car, can I get a one-time permit to be able to yell loudly at you?

And where would I obtain said permit?

Because if it’s at the DMV, you’re definitely dead.

But I will say that this revelation definitely brightened up our family downtown walk on Saturday.

“And this, kids, is the County Jail. It’s where we’ll come visit you if you ever yell loudly in public again.”

Your Personal Shopper In Waiting.

Have you been itching to house a collection of multicolored Furbys around your neck?

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Or are you looking for the perfect sports bra to give you coverage and support you crave as you run your next race?

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Looking for clarity in the many, many boot choices out there?

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Or are you done with boot season and looking for the ideal cool summer sandal?

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I am here for you, and I want to be your personal shopper.

I want to find you distressed denim boots for your every need,

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The perfect shirt with which to impress your boyfriend’s family with your class and sophistication, paired with the most complimentary pants for the outfit.

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And I want to make you sparkle like the star that you are. (Though that criteria might cost you a bit of starry-eyed dough.)

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I don’t want you to feel fenced in by your clothes…

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I want you to reflect your true self in the sheen of your knee!

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And if you’re ready to let your toes peep out while keeping your knees securely covered, I’ve got that look ready to go, too.

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….Or whatever body part you want to let peek out. There’s a peeker choice for all of ‘em.

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….and every combination of ‘em.

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Got tiny scars from getting your gall bladder removed? We will cut your dress so that it shows only the perfect quadrants of your belly.

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Love the high/low look but prefer the backs of your knees to the front? We’ve got you covered/uncovered.

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Whether your style is Little House on the Prairie,

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Queen Victoria meets Green Acres,

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Or Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman,

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I have you SO covered. I even have you covered if your style is Under the Covers.

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I can even help you find that perfect pair of leggings that hides and minimizes, drawing attention up toward your beautiful face.

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(Nothing to see here, people.)

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But wait! Is your genre KellyAnne Conway at an inauguration party? It’s KellyAnne Conway I’ll give you.

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You want the comfort of a maxi dress and the style of a romper? YES! I can EVEN do that!!

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And swimsuits! Yes, swimsuits. Do you want to make sure people know you’re high-strung?

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Or poisonous to the touch?

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And if you’re a ruffly, girly kind of girl, I will ruffle you from top to bottom.

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And finally. For the ultimate fashion staple, denim.

Have you been reading my jeans posts and want to make sure your pockets aren’t too high? I have fire insurance pants for you.

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Because there’s NOTHING as useful as calf pockets.

I am ready to hear from you. Let me help you with all your fashion needs.