Unexpected stain

In the evening of Tuesday around 5:00 pm, I had just gotten home from work and was in the kitchen trying to make dinner when I heard a knock on my door.
"Who's there? I'm coming!" I quickly washed my hands and walked towards the door.

"Good evening, my dad said I should give you this," Doreen, the daughter of one of my clients, handed over a nylon containing her daddy's clothe for me to wash.

"Okay, thank you," I replied as I collected it. As I was about to slam the door, she held it with her hand, cleared her throat and said "I almost forgot...my dad said you should wash it now because it's white."

I paused, looked at her while she muffled some girly smile. "Okay, I've heard you, thank you." My quick response signaled that I wasn't ready for too much talk. I slammed the door, threw the nylon in the corner where I usually keep unwashed clothes. I prepared my meal, had my bath, ate, and launched into dreamland.

The following day, which was Wednesday, I had a little heap of clothes to wash. I decided to suspend every washing until the following day to gather enough for a one-time washing.

On the morning of Thursday, I packed out all the clothes to wash. While picking them one after the other, I encountered Daddy Doreen's clothes, a white native attire clustered with dark greenish mucus on the chest part.

"Jesus!" The sight of the dirt resurrected goosebumps all over my skin; I couldn't believe my eyes. I picked up the clothe and noticed that it was wet when Doreen brought it, and I didn't know because I didn't check it at that moment.

"Oh! Why didn't she tell me that the clothe was wet?" I began to lament. But I also remembered that Doreen had emphasized washing the clothe as soon as possible, which I didn't take seriously because she and her dad sounded as if they were teaching me my work.

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I began to scrub the spoiled spots to see if I could make it clean as it should be, but no way. The only option left was to soak it in a harsh organic detergent, but the fear of the clothe getting spoiled dawned on me. My instincts clashed with many thoughts:

"Don't dare to add that organic substance into the clothe; if it spoils, the owner won't forgive you."

"If you're not going to add the organic substance, does it mean you're going to leave the clothe like that? Do you think that the man will accept any of your excuses?"

All the thoughts ran through my mind while I was seated on the bench, holding the clothe with the dripping water on it.

Not taking a risk is a risk itself. I swung into action, brought out the organic chemical, mixed it with a lot of water to avoid damaging the clothe, and dipped it.
After about 2 hours, I went back to see if the stubborn marks had been removed, but unfortunately, they were still there. My soul weakened, my body began to shiver, and my brain began to imagine the kind of query I would get from the owner of the clothe.

I couldn't contain all that; I decided to make another mixture, made it very harsh with a very little quantity of water, and dipped the cloth into it. I left it for about three hours, and when I checked back, the clothe was clean and sparkling.

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I sighed with deep relief and had the rest of the day with a smooth, unburdened mind.

Thanks for reading.

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