Shit, she thought, as she opened the door of the dryer and saw the pink stains on her clothes, he'd done it again. Put the coloreds in with the whites. Even though she'd told him repeatedly not to. This is why, she told herself, one should never trust a man to do the laundry.
And why not tell her about it, she thought, as she took the clothes out of the dryer and put them in the basket. He must have noticed the stains when he took them out of the wash. Couldn't he just have put them back to wash then? Or at least told her that he'd made a mistake. Why just put them in the dryer and say nothing about it? Did he think she wouldn't notice?
The dryer was empty now. No sign of whatever red or pink garment had dyed the other clothes. Of course. After he realized what had happened he must have sorted them out and put the offending cloth in with the other coloreds. What a child he was sometimes.
She emptied the other dryer. Blues, greys, greens. Nothing red. But there had to be, didn't there? She riffled through the pile again, carefully. Nothing. She stood back, looking puzzled. Had she missed it? Had he put it in the with the whites after all? Was it still in the first dryer?
She went back to the dryer, bent over, peeked in. Empty. As she stared into it, though, she noticed a thin trickle of red running along the back. It seemed to be coming from the top of the dryer. She straightened up and stared at the top dryer. The indicator showed it was empty, but the door was shut. Maybe someone had left their clothes in there? Maybe they were leaking? Though if they'd been in the dryer they shouldn't still be wet. She looked around. The laundry room was empty, as it usually was at this time of the night. She opened the door of the top dryer, peered in. Then she began to scream.