Every week (ahum, or two weeks or so...) I do my laundry. I don't have a washing machine but the people in the apartment above me do. They brag about this fact by overloading their machine and flooding our kitchen. I'm not bitter.
Anyways, I have to go to the laundromat. This is where the walking part comes in handy. I fill a garbage bag full of smelly clothes (right hand) and bring detergent and study notes (left hand) and my purse (shoulder), and then I trek the many blocks to the hot house of weird flowery smells (aka the laundromat).
Today, as I was walking with my arms full of laundry things, a man laughed at me. Like, really laughed. At me. I felt like that dog my brother and I once laughed at because it was ugly to the extreme (the poor thing looked sad and turned it's back on us. I learned that day that laughing at dogs is mean). I just smiled at the guy and kept walking. Then I karma hexed him.
My last laundry adventure was not so much fun either. For some dumb reason, I let my purse (which should be on my shoulder) slip down to my right wrist. Then, without me realizing it, the purse dropped onto the cement and I merrily walked away without it.
Upon arriving at the laundromat, I quickly discovered that my purse was missing. Dumping my clothes, I raced up and down the streets in a great search. No purse. I gave up and hauled my clothes back home (the lady at the laundromat thought I was strange).
BUT, when I got home I got a phone call from the nice Montreal police. The day was saved! My purse had been rescued! I hurried to their station and learned that Montreal police are nice, as well as very good looking. Very good looking.