Laundry Pit Stop

Slipping back indoors through the patio crack, my sneakers were definitely ready for a breather after all that yard running. The living room was quiet, lit only by the low glow of a floor lamp. Right beside the sofa sat a tall wicker basket loaded with fresh, clean laundry. I caught the woven edge, swung myself up top, and found a heavy, cream-colored cable-knit blanket resting right at the crest. I wedged both gloves into a deep fold, hollowed out a snug little tunnel, and nestled right in with my kicks kicked up on the rim. Now that is a solid nighttime pit stop.