Dhobighat- Not the movie.

I come out in the balcony with a bucket full of washed clothes.

My husband gifted me a FBI fully automatic washing machine on my last birthday. But I hardly use it. I like washing clothes with my bare hands. Its not because I am too naive to understand how it works, it is because removing dirt from the clothes gives me weird comfort.

I start spreading the clothes on the cables. Mrs. Mehra from the opposite balcony smiles at me. She tries to engage me in a conversation, I smile and come back telling her my phone is ringing.

I come in and spot the dirty duster in the corner, I pick it up and start rubbing the fingerprints from the glass top of the center table. 

Will those dirty fingerprints on my body come off ever, I always wonder. 

My husband is here. He is going to see water dripping off the wet clothes in the balcony and ask me again to use the washing machine.

He will then ask me to get a dhobi come to our place and collect laundry because everyone does that. 

And I will start screaming on the mention of dhobi and faint. Like everyday.

When I did not take Dump in time

The morning was Cold. The alarm clock snoozed, and I took the first look on my Twitter Timeline. 

She was there. Enough reason to make my morning.

I pulled over my quilt.

That was when my phone rang and I realized I had an important meeting to look forward to in office and I was already 30 minutes late. 

I splashed water on my face and ran.

Everyone in the conference room looked at me as if I came straight out of my bed. And I had.

I connected the laptop to the projector and thats when I realized I could not wait for the meeting to get over to go to the washroom.

I fumbled in the wires and my laptop jumped from the table and committed suicide.

And, then something in my pants committed suicide.

P.S. This one is for @chulbul_pandi ;)