My hands are dirty.
They aren’t supposed to be.
They have been clean from crime and pilfering for over 7 years now.
Except for that take a penny, leave a penny tray at the convenience store. Sometimes, I take more than a penny.
Crime doesn’t pay.
And the grime, that may be unnoticeable to the naked eye, glares up at me as if it were blood on my hands.
My Sunday started as usual.
Get up. Make coffee. Have cup of said coffee. Start laundry.
It’s a routine.
I have been known to call it Cinderfella’s Sunday Funday.
I would be Cinderfella.
Only now, instead of being fitted for a glass Converse All Star hi top, it will be for a steel shackles in the castle of steel on steel.
I start with the denim load first. It’s starts off the “road to clean” routine.
When load 1 is finished, I transfer it to the dryer and proceed to the dark colors.
It was in between the loads when I realized my revert to my criminal past.
Always in between. Never before. Never after.
Freaking in between.
As I began to transfer the contents to the awaiting drying stage of the process, I bore witness to my crime.
And without thinking, I did what anyone with a criminal past would have done.
Hung it out to dry.
Not what I intended when thinking of ways to teach the kids about the value of a dollar….much less 4.
There is a lesson to be learned here.
Or something like that.