Today, I randomly opened Circumstances of Childhood to page 159, pointed to the page with my eyes closed, and my finger fell on the word “laundering.” This will be the prompt today.
Laundering by John W. Howell © 2025
“What are you doing?”
“The laundry. What does it look like?”
“I’m not really sure. I thought laundering was done in a machine.”
“Yeah, well, this is the best we’ve got. Rocks and the river bank.”
“That looks like a hard way to go.”
“If you have a better idea, I’d like to hear it.”
“No offense, but I can’t see how you do the laundry.”
“See this rock?”
“Yes.”
“I take this crawfish here and hit it on the rock.”
“So you are having lunch. Why did you say laundry?”
“Any fool could see I was eating. Asking what I was doing begged for a smart-assed answer.”
“I suppose.”
“Besides, I didn’t want to ask you to share my lunch.”
“Yeah, I really get that. I can get my own lunch.”
“Don’t be touching these crawfish. They’re mine.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to hit that new restaurant.”
“The one with the spicy food?”
“Yeah.”
“How can you stand that heat?”
“I avoid it.”
“How?”
“I look for French fries and salad when I enter the dumpster. I leave the hot stuff to the rats.”
“Well, it seems that no self-respecting raccoon needs to dumpster dive. You can always fish.”
“With you guarding the river?”
“Okay, you got me there. Here, have a few mussels.”
“Oh, I’m allergic.”
“Then it’s the dumpster.”
“How about a crawfish?”
“I caught these myself. Why don’t you catch your own?”
“And get wet?”
“You sure you are a raccoon like me? You sound more like a pussy cat.”
“Hey, I got the mask.”
“You do. I think you are hiding behind it.”
“Okay, step aside, I’m going into the river for crawfish.”
“Atta boy.”
