Pushing up Daisies

I came home from school today with one goal in my mind. Laundry. Must Do Laundry. I've got a volleyball game tomorrow night, and I absolutely must have a clean sports bra to wear. (I just don't think the push-up under wire variety I normally wear will work for diving in the sand. I'd have boobies popping out all over the place.)

I get started on my chore, dumping in a load of whites, and wander back to the kitchen where I see the message on the dry-erase board. "Daisy died."

Sidebar: My roommate grew up in a menagerie, where she and her brother played host to several varieties of pets, from iguanas and turtles to flying squirrels and chinchillas. In fact, when 40 left the menagerie after college and moved into Xanadu, two little warm fuzzies accompanied her: Spartacus the bunny and Daisy the chinchilla.

Daisy was a sweet little thing, and I felt sad for 40, so I called and to express my sympathies. During our conversation, I inquired to the nature of Daisy's final resting place. Since Daisy will live on forever in the 'Til5 family's 19-ninety somethin’ Christmas card photo, 40 has decided to simply discard her.

In the trash.

The trash that's in the laundry room.

Where I'm doing laundry.

I'm honestly a little oogied out right now.

I know that's childish, but I feel I'm being disrespectful to Daisy by accidentally dropping my dirty sock on the Hefty bag that is her sepulcher.

Also, I had needed to move the bag a little in order to close the door all the way, so I kicked the bag a little. I hope I didn't kick her.

Poor Daisy.

Rest in peace, sweet muncher of raisins... and shoes.

But think I may wait to finish laundry until after the garbage goes out tomorrow.