Day 259
I open the dryer and pull out
the still-warm clothes. Sweet
little girl dresses. Pink shorts
with frilly hems. Princess
underwear. All these things are
foreign to a mom of three boys.
A new camp friend watches me
fold as she readies herself for bed.
If she wonders why I’m folding so much pink she never asks.
I pile the laundered clothes
into a neat pile. I make quick
work of it. I don’t want to be
found out. One part of committing
random acts of kindness is the covertness of the sting operation.
I join Junko at the sink where
side-by-side we brush our teeth.
The sound of the wood door
hitting the jam causes us to turn.
“My laundry,” the woman says and
smiles. “Who did this?”
I shrug my shoulder, turn back
towards the sink and continue brushing.
“She did,” Junko offers,
pointing to me.
I adopt a tactic I sometimes use
with my kids: Ignore and maybe they’ll stop talking.
“You did?” the woman asks.
Still brushing. Still ignoring.
“Yes,” Junko clarifies.
My cover blown I spit my
toothpaste and turn. And dazzle
her with my shiny grin.
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