Yesterday, an honest mistake turned into a web of lies when I started the wash without realizing that someone's clothes were still in there. My choices were to let the wash run through again and tell her about my mistake, or wring them out, stick them in the dryer, and hope she never noticed. A mature person would be honest and the experience would be an opportunity for bonding with a neighbor around our mutual humanity, but living in chronic fear and anxiety as I do, I panicked and did the latter. What resulted was a conversation in which I listened to and commiserated with her concerns about how the machines must be broken (why else would her laundry be wet?) and said things like, "...must be buggy...do you want any quarters? (desperate plea to ease my guilt)...anything I can do?" I'm generally compulsively honest about my mistakes, but this one involved a whole cover-up scheme that I just couldn't process, let alone explain to a neighbor I've said little more than "hello" to, on a Saturday morning...(sigh). Evil Flash Programmer would be proud.

In case you're wondering why I would write about this for the whole world (and possibly Washing Machine Lady) to read, I'll just say that after four years of blogging what I've learned is that unless someone is my friend or relative (more likely) or a spammer (Asian Porn, Mature Blond Cunt...I know they read my blog) most people have better things to do than read about my neuroses (unless I beg and plead)...

Just for today, I can blog honestly about my duplicity.