Mother, Laundry and Panties

       Mother didn’t like to do laundry; at least, not ours. She said our underwear smelled like rats drenched in rain water poured through a dirty filter.

       Her panties smelled like April showers, even if she didn’t wash them. “Get out! You ungrateful piece of shit,” she said, barely lifting her sniffing nose out of the permanently stained garment draping her hands like fine silk.

       So I did, leaving Mother alone with her laundry and panties.

Copyright2004JMGiles