by Frances Tate
Check weather forecast. Cast skeptical eyes skyward. Flip a coin. Load washing machine. Finger hovers, nuclear nervous over the start button. Commit… door locks, water rushes. No going back now.
Cycle completes.
Dozens of socks and smalls damply dangle like chandelier pendants from two, one-hook carousels; the washing line equivalent of a cyclist’s quick-release wheel.
I promote my partner to rain monitor. Post him by the conservatory where the roof sounds the alarm and French doors allow full-pelt garden access.
Less than an hour later it rains – despite the BBC’s assurance it won’t.
House breaks out into Chinese laundry pustules.
Frances Tate is a British self-published writer of vampires and drabbles who lives in the north west of England. She enjoys curry, gardening, exploring historical sites, cinema, reading and travelling.