She looked tired and worn as though the thought of doing another load of laundry would push her over the edge. As she hunched over the folded piles, she realized that it wasn’t the laundry that was really the problem so much as what it represented. Being trapped, tied down, and responsible. Having no time to herself, for her interests, her needs, her desires. These things were pushed aside now in a large heap like the piles of towels she tried to ignore. The small sleepers of her baby girl. The dirty jeans of her 5 year old son. The filthy socks of her hard working husband. All of it tumbling around together like the pieces of her life. Where was she in this jumble of clothing ? Somewhere between sensible underwear that didn’t ride up and the silky bras and panties she washed separately in a delicates bag. That one act of selfishness that kept her sane. A separate wash just for her things alone. While she watched her delicates swish around safely in the bag especially for them, she folded the tiny sleepers, put the small jeans in the basket, rolled up the socks and smiled.