>>118827867:42 A.M. – She was still slurping down the last of her WYLDLYFE drink, reading one of the local papers, when I finished, wiping my face with a napkin before gathering up one plate, two bowls, and one glass for washing.
7:45 A.M. – Dishes cleaned. Off to shower and change before work. I picked out a clean pair of boxers and an undershirt (both specially tailored. One of the local designers was quite intrigued at the style – the only misfortune being the lack of other suitable customers for that specific design. Still, she appreciates the business) and took them into the bathroom. Made sure to *latch* the door. Carefully removed my clothing (one arm out first, THEN pull the shirt from right to left off the body) and placed them in the empty hamper.
7:47 A.M. – Ah, blissful cleansing. A shower in the morning and at night keeps pores nice and clean.
7:55 A.M – Toweled dry, put undershirt and boxers on before unlocking the door. Back to bedroom, time to change int…
Empty drawer.
Shit. God damn it.
“Echo!” I cried, trying to stay on the lighter side of panicked screaming. “Where are my *work clothes*?!” I said, rushing back into the kitchen clad in my undergarments.
She looked distant. “Your wha-?”
“Work clothes! My work uniform?” I repeated, hammering the table for emphasis.
Slight smirk as she pointed at me. “You mean you’re not going like that, give ‘em a show, boss?”
Gritting my teeth. “You were in charge of wash last night, according to the duty roster!”
Distant look again. “Oh, right. Right. Uh, yeah, I did wash things. I think I forgot to uh, hang them to dry, though.”
Perfect. Wonderful. “Damn it, can’t I count on you for anything? I’m going to be *late*!”
