The Brownies

Each time I leave, I return to the apartment to find that someone has been here.  Yes, under any other circumstances, that might cause alarm.  But these visitors are like the Brownies my sister and I claimed to be when we, late at night, did some chore for my mother for which we said, “The Brownies must have been here,” not directly claiming credit.

I returned from the gym, and my (so few) dishes from the night before were washed and in a newly-arrived drying rack.    

I returned from teaching class, and my dirty laundry was gone. (and oh dear.  I never meant that to happen; I was waiting on my lesson for using the washing machine (which is, of course, in Korean) for most of my laundry.)  An ironing board was suddenly in my bedroom.  And the bathtub had been cleaned.  My slippers were neatly placed at the front hall.

Some days, groceries appear.  (But I don’t know how many bananas they think a single person can eat before the bananas go bad.)  Each night, dirty laundry has disappeared, and clean laundry is folded neatly in a basket at the bottom of my closet.  And even though I wash my own dishes before leaving to teach, everything is put up before I return home.  And today, a microwave and toaster arrived.

Never do I see this happen, but each evening (and sometimes in the morning) it does.  Okay, so how they know when I’m gone?  Most things occur when I teach, and my hosts are well aware of my schedule.  And, true, there are cameras all over this building.  Am I being watched?  Do I care?  Not really.   

Seriously, I could get used to Brownies.