Sunday, May 01, 2005

Laundry Speak

I was feeling rather zombie-like as I decided to wash my clothes.

So it came as sort of a shock when my boxers decided to start a conversation.

I had placed my laundry basket directly on top of the washer and opened two doors. As I was racially dividing my clothes between colors and whites, I was about to throw a pair of slightly used boxers into the wash.

"You really have no ass, you know that?"

I quickly looked around to see where the voice was coming from, but there wasn't anyone else joining me in the laundry room. I was kinda thankful since my ass is not a topic I really enjoy talking about.

"Flat ass. Flatass. Flass!" My boxers were as gleeful as a two year old child discovering a new word.

Since I had no one else talk to, and I was feeling rather lonely, I spoke back.

"Listen, I know I suffer from the anglo disease of no ass. Just leave me alone."

My boxers were rather chatty considering they smelled rather nauseating.

"Flass boy. Boxers really appreciate a good, strong masculine ass. No wonder I'm never on the floor looking up at you and a well-assed women."

"My personal life is really none of your damn business." I flung my now least pair of favorite boxers into the washer and quickly tried to muffle them with my college sweatshirt.

"Give me an ass with some meat on it and mfjlkejaiodfiadf."

I thought that would be the end of it until his brothers started piping up.

"Hey, that was pretty fucked up. He was just speaking the truth. I'm the one who should really be complaining. I've got shit stains..."

I smothered him with two bath towels and a good sprinkling of detergent. But apparently their volume had awoken the rest of my laundry.

"Hey guys, I'm the one who should complain. I have to wipe the water from his flass when he gets out of the shower."

Sigh. My other bath towel was now getting chatty.

"And I'm really sick and tired of you just leaving me on the floor when you're done showering. How about putting me back on the towel rack so I have a better view? Huh? Couldya? Huh?"

I slammed the door and held it shut, quickly looking around to see if anybody had witnessed me arguing with my laundry.

"Excuse me! Hey! Hey!!"

My attention span was starting to bow in the middle, but I finally discovered where the voice was coming from.

"Excuse me mister. My twin brother is all alone in the washer and he gets really upset if we're not together."

My dress sock seemed about ready to cry.

"Please, don't separate us. Once you dropped one of us behind the laundry basket and we were split up for weeks. I miss my brother already."

I could feel a tear coming to my eye, so I decided to open the washer door and reunite the sock family.

I deposited the required amount of change in the dispenser and pushed start.

It was the most frightening sound I had ever heard.

Imagine a symphony of whee's and yippee's blended with momentary high notes of sobbing.

I wondered how I would deal with a weekly drowning in city water and cheap detergent.

Which reminded me that I know exactly what they're going through. I wash my blood three times a week, three hours at a time, and I react much the same depending on the day of the week.

I made a promise to myself to treat my laundry with compassion and care from now on.

And if my boxers ever complain again, I'm switching to Old Navy.

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