Crisp white cottons

The whole thing confused her. She was never quite sure which ones went into the white batch and the other bright batch. At every load, she heaps them all onto a pile on the floor and begins to separate the whites from the brights.
The pure white ones were always easy, she found out. White under wears and t- shirts. Then comes the neutral tone ones, the ones that give her a headache. Neither bright nor too dim - the average ones, the typical ones. The ones whose place she is never sure of. Which pile do they go into? And she makes a separate heap for those.
In the end, there would be about ten whites, a few more neutrals and quite a bit of the bright ones. She puts the bright ones first; but there is so much space left in the washer. In a moment of insanity and indecisiveness, in goes all the three. And she watches them mixing, twirling and whirling around. Sigh. Life is such.