I asked my landlady this morning where I could do my wash. She said she could do it here, for the same price as bringing it to a laundromat, and to just bring it right down. So I did. And now I have no clothes. Because they have not yet made it up to my room, and I have no idea where in this tiny house she resides. Certainly not in any of the four bedrooms. So I left a note on the toilet in what appears to be her bathroom asking her to let me know when she got in so I could pick up my laundry. Except I think she was probably already in. So back to square one: I don't know where she lives in the house or how to reach her. And I have absolutely zero clothes in my possession besides the ones that I am currently wearing, and have been wearing all day.
And tomorrow I have to go to the library again before meeting up with two of the kilt-clad Scottish-dancing guys that I met last night and subsequently got a ride home with.
Back to my place. Not theirs. Either of theirs. Because if they lived together, that would have been even weirder. And then they went home. Not to my place.