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                                     Taking Out the Dirty Laundry


                   Dvir Shreiber

                   One evening, a malicious thought occurred to me that perhaps I should pay a

                   visit to Benny, my neat pedantic friend. Benny, asides from being the man
                   most meticulous in his appearance I know, is also a great host, which on the

                   one hand serves his guests the best pastries of the country, and on the other
                   hand lets them watch cable television without bothering them. Yes, I said to

                   myself, let's go to Benny. He will surely be happy to see me. Quickly I
                   arrived at the building, hopped to the third floor and rang the bell. But no

                   one answered. Not even a woman. Only after repeated ringing the door
                   opened, and despite the darkness inside I was able to recognize Yaheli,

                   Benny's bouncy and sarcastic daughter.
                   "Yaheli!" I admired her, "you grew so tall!"

                   "Dad says he's not home", Yaheli (who really looked tall for her age) said,
                   and was going to close the door, but I prevented her from doing so.

                   Something in what she said sounded odd to me. If Benny's not home, why
                   didn't he come to tell me so himself? Maybe he's sick? Maybe he needs

                   help? Maybe Yaheli is holding him hostage and not letting him out of the

                   room? I realized I had to find out what's going on, for this is what friends are
                   for.
                   And besides, I really wanted to watch TV channels I don't have at home.

                   I walked inside, and understood right away. Yaheli didn't grow tall at all, it

                   was socks. And pants. She was just standing on top of an enormous
                   mountain of clothes, clothes and more clothes. The whole apartment, from

                   the floor to the table, was packed full of piles of clothes, from every variety
                   and color, smelling like, to put it gently, not the best thing in the world. And

                   all of this at Benny's home, the tidiest man in the Middle East, if not the
                   whole world.

                   "Benny?" I called out in shock, "How can this be?"
                   Benny came in, looking embarrassed, and turned on the living room lights.

                   He was wearing a faded sweatshirt and raggedy, stained shorts. There was
                   no point in hiding anything anymore.

                   "What happened?" I asked.
                   "You won't tell anyone?" he asked with quivering lips.

                   "Is this how you know me?" I was offended, "do you think I run to the paper
                   and publish anything that happens to me?"

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