Les Bonnes Choses

I used to pay attention to the weather. Then I moved to a place where the temperature was quoted in Farenheit and was meaningless without extra calculation (C = (F-32) * 9/5). So I stopped paying attention to the weather forecast and am consequently appalled -- but not surprised -- by today's return to snow. If you live above a certain latitude, you will inevitably ask yourself once a year whether it is safe to put away your hats, mitts, boots and overcoats until the fall. And if you have lived above a certain latitude long enough, you will know that the first time you ask yourself that question the answer is "no."

So, unlike yesterday, today is not an appropriate day to hang any laundry out to dry on the makeshift clothesline I ran between two trees in the back yard. Not that we have much laundry to hang, on account of the broken washing machine and all. We did dig through some of our laundry mountain, however, thanks to Amy's washing facilities. We (Amy, actually) loaded up three of the four laundry bags into three of the four washing machines in her apartment yesterday morning just before lab meeting. Through luck of the draw, the one bag of laundry that did not get washed was the one containing my *ahem* panties. After a phone call last evening in which the word commando was tossed around more than once, Amy was good enough to throw that last bag of laundry into an available machine, and then call Rebecca to pick it up on her way out to the bookstore.

I don't know how many readers out there work with someone (not a spouse or family member) who have washed their underwear, but it's further evidence that academics breeds strange work environments.