laundry with a hint of lunch

laundry under the cubre ropas
Two days ago I hung my laundry out on our amusing window clothes line and pulled its sturdy rain cover taut overtop. Sure enough, it drizzled in the intervening days, but my clothes kept slowly drying, and today I took them down, holding my breath as I leaned out to reach them and hoping I didn’t drop a sock or a clothes pin into the abyss of the empty, locked courtyard below.

I can’t say my clothes smell fresh and clean. Their odor is an odd but not entirely unpleasant mixture of the lunches and dinners of several different apartments, plus a weak whiff of strange Spanish detergent, and a hint of damp leaves fallen in cool autumn puddles. Mmm. I’m glad I forgot to wash my PJs; I think I’ll let them dry inside. The architect clearly wasn’t thinking when he designed this building with the kitchens and their windows opening to the same courtyard where everyone’s laundry would have to hang. Time to buy some aggressively floral fabric softener.

On a completely separate note, today I met with the owners of an English academy, for whom I’m going to do some tutoring! I had hoped to be able to do something of the like while here, but I never expected it to drop into my lap like it did; my Direct Translation professor asked me if I’d be interested, since he knows the owners. I told him that I most certainly would, and here we are. I may start tutoring my first student this Saturday!


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