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Conversations with my laundry

Me: "This shirt looks good to wear today."
Shirt: *looks sensible, remotely fashionable, and black*
Me: "Wait a minute. I know your type."
Me: *shakes shirt*
Shirt: *disgorges stocking*
Stocking: *sticks to wall*
Me: "Umm..."
Shirt: "WTF."
My sensible Bachelor Housewife Side: "You have dryer sheets for a reason, Loonie."
The Wall: *spits sock to floor*
Stocking: *lies there with deceptive calm*
Me: "No, I don't think so." *gets dressed*
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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