Tricia threw her wet clothes into the dryers. At this point the upper row of dryers was below her eye line, so she just used several of the bottom units. She went back to her magazine, every so often thinking about what she could do to herself with the remote when she got back home, and what tasks she would still be able to perform at her diminished size.
Fifty minutes later her clothes were dry. She found an empty folding table and started her work. About halfway through folding, a man approached her.
"Hello, young lady," he smiled. "Is your mommy making you do the laundry all by yourself?"
Tricia almost laughed. "Mommy?" she thought. What a creep. To him, she probably appeared to be thirteen or younger. She put her best face on, hoping he wasn't a child molester and just a concerned citizen. "I'm helping out mom for her birthday. She's just across the street in that coffee shop watching."
To his credit, the man didn't look disappointed or anything that betrayed a hidden agenda. "Well that's fine. I hope when my daughter gets to be your age that she'll be just as nice to her parents." With that, he went back to stuffing his own laundry in a washer.
Trish sighed in relief and continued folding her shirts.
Soon, it was finally time to go. With her wagon piled high with sorted clothes and the remote tucked safely between the stacks, Trish headed out. The wagon felt much heavier than before, and the journey definitely seemed farther. Her shoes didn't fit very well at this point. She almost stepped out of them almost every time she raised a foot. She pulled the string inside her skirt's waist tighter and tighter as she continued walking. She had only a block to go, but it felt like two or more with the height she was at now, coupled with the heavy drag of the wagon, but slowly and surely she was headed home.