The multiplying mountain of clean clothes perched on my dryer laughs at me. As I stuff a new load into the washer, he stares. With beady eyes and densely packed, fresh clothes. So mean-spirited and intimidating. It’s as if he gets greater with every load. He does. He grows more and more unapproachable…I stack more clothes on, feeding into his grandiose perception of himself. With a passive aggressive shadow that looms down upon me, he just laughs. A slow, deep chuckle as I scurry back up the stairs. He wins again. I know it. He knows it. The damn enabling washer and dryer know it, too. I am sick of his mockery. This circus where I am the clown, doing this little dance every other night. It’s degrading. I’m shutting this show down, scaling the mountain, reaching the summit. With every matched sock, I regain a piece of my dignity. With every crease, with every fold I restore my self-respect. Tonight. Tonight is the night I confront him. I’m bringing this bully down.