The Rutabaga in the Washer

      Rutabagas come from Sweden, they say, but I know different. Something with that many A's in the name can't be from Sweden, anyway. There are no A's at all in the word Sweden. Enough said on that topic.

     I have never eaten a rutabaga and didn't even know 
how to spell it until it appeared in a washer one day. There are three washers in the apartment basement and I picked the one with the rutabaga. I opened the lid to put my clothes in, like any normal person, and found this turnip-looking object staring back at me.

     Most normal people would have either taken the plant out of the washer or moved to another one, but I couldn't look away. What was this odd creation I was looking at? I figured that it was a space plant that got really lonely floating out there all by itself. One day, it was like, "I'm going to go meet that big blue, green, and white ball over there and make friends."

     But rutabaga's are shy so it took several centuries to get up enough courage to do it. Then, it finally floated over to the ball and found out it was a lot bigger than originally thought. The rutabaga got sucked up in the Earth's atmosphere and it was too late to turn back.

     Once headed for earth, it decided it needed to do something fast or, it could tell from the heat, it was going to burn up and cease to exist. So the rutabaga put up its force field, which looked oddly like a pair of jeans.

     It landed outside of a goodwill and, too tired and scared to take down it's force field right away, it was mistaken for said jeans. Someone picked it up, thinking it was a donation. After sitting on the shelf for a while next to a few other disguised plants, it was just starting to get comfortable enough to change back. 

     Then, it was taken into a dressing room, tried on, bought, and taken home as the jeans it looked like. Laundry day came and, triggered by the water, its other defense system kicked in and it went invisible. The owner of the rutabaga jeans missed the invisible vegetable when taking her clothes out of the washer.

     Thinking it was finally safe in the dark of the washer, the rutabaga turned back into itself and sat, waiting for what it didn't know. Then I opened the lid, found it, and discovered its story. Now the rutabaga and I are good friends. We sit and chat late into the night and my neighbors think I'm crazy. I will never look at another pair of jeans the same way again.

Peace,

Rachel

P.S. I did not find a rutabaga in my apartment washer.