Freshly laundered linen

I've been busy as of late and fear I may have abandoned some of my manners.

It's just the whole relocating to a new city/immediately starting a new job/while the person who took over my previous position continues to email and call me with redundant job-related questions two to three times daily...

That sort of thing.  I'm over it now, I promise.

A few evenings ago my dear mother brought to my attention that in my last post I forgot to give thanks to two key players in the big move: my beautiful cousin Keely and my wonderful Godmother, auntie Kim.

Thanks to Keel for going out and buying crucial household staples and also unpacking many an overly bubble wrapped item without the slightest gripe. 

Thanks to auntie Kim for taking much of my dirty laundry into her home and carefully washing and air drying each piece.  (I did protest, but she generously insisted.)  Now all of my clothing smells like...how shall I describe the heavenly ambrosia, Dear Reader?  I fear it is far too lovely to capture in words.  Let's just say that I now smell like a freshly laundered bouquet of benevolence. 

During the move, among helping me in a million other ways, my mom also took home a bunch of my laundry and returned it to me smelling beyond fresh. 

I suppose doing laundry is a bit like making a sandwich- it always seems to turn out better when someone else does it. 

A note about one particular item my mother took home to launder: specifically, my duvet cover.  Some time last weekend I noticed an unfamiliar aroma wafting from my bedroom.  This smell wasn't in the living room, mind you, or in the kitchen or hallway.  It was strangely absent from the bathroom as well.  No, this smell was strictly lingering in the bedroom.  It wasn't an unpleasant odor; rather, it was just the faintest whisper of a soft perfume.

Hmmm.  Now, if you know me at all, you'll know that I have long harbored several fears of the irrational variety.  Mainly, a stalwart, hearty fear of ghosts.  When I first got a whiff of this particular floral aroma, the truth is I immediately thought one thing and one thing only: the apartment's haunted.

Don't think I hadn't thrown a casual thought in this direction before; years ago when I lived in Boston I dormed in a haunted brownstone.  Internally, I'd already gently been wondering what the spirit status of our new residence would be.

My nose has a super human capacity for scent.  Try as I might to disregard it, the perfume aroma was steadily morphing into an elephant in a pink tutu dancing daintily across our one bedroom nest.  This thing was becoming impossible to ignore.  That night as we unpacked, Hubby might ask, "Should we put this (fill in the blank) over here, or over there?"  And I would answer distractedly, glancing over my shoulder, eyes overly wide, "Oh, sure, wherever...whatever you like...mmm hmmm..."

"What's the matter?"  Hubby was concerned.  "Why are you making that face?"

"What face?  Me?  No reason..."  I was trying to act calm, cool, cheerful, non-jumpy.  As if there wasn't an otherworldly spectre loitering menacingly by our bureau.  Poor Hubby, he had no idea!

I couldn't say it out loud, you see, because then it would be official.  And I refused to acknowledge ole' perfume ghost lady, not for love nor money.

It wouldn't be until later, when I wearily crawled into bed, that I would realize my bedroom was not in fact haunted.  The unfamiliar odor I had been sniffing all evening was coming from none other than my very clean, delightfully floral scented duvet cover, lovingly washed for me by my mommy.

Pathetic feelings aside, my relief was instantaneous and immense.  I slept like a baby.

New city, same nutty old Broad.  xoxo

Comments

[mom]

You might be a nut, but you're my nut...I love you and I'm so happy you're back home...love, mommy