Last week my husband David left a pile of clothing on the couch for me to take to the dry cleaner. Which I did. I picked it up the other day. David carried it upstairs to the bedroom, and a minute later he called me in. He was in the closet, where he removed a hanger from his row of freshly cleaned and pressed
laundry. "Since when do we send this out to be dry cleaned?" he asked. I stared at the object for a minute. It looked familiar, but I couldn't place it right away. And then I did. "That's Fred's blanket!" Fred is our dog. Who, apparently, deciding that his fleece blanket needed some freshening and TLC that I was unable to provide in our washer at home, put it in the pile with David's laundry. Which I then dropped off at the cleaners. And there it was, pristine and neatly folded on a hanger. I laughed until I cried, imagining what the folks at the cleaner's thought when they came across it, and then how they went ahead and cleaned it. I didn't get an itemized receipt, so I don't know what they charge to clean a dog blankie. But they did do a nice job.
I have some more shirts to be dropped off today. I'll be sure to ask Fred if he has anything that needs to go.