Thursday, February 26, 2004


The washer was running when I got home from work. Cool, I thought, the boyfriend's doing some laundry. The cycle finished after he'd left for his gig. When I opened the washer to transfer the clothes to the dryer, I was momentarily stumped. "What's the theme of this load?" I wondered. Because it certainly wasn't sorted by color. Ah, I get it...underwear. He had rifled through the hamper and (seemingly) pulled out every dirty pair of chonies either of us had tossed in there. The only problem was that he washed a lot of very colorful underwear with some very white pieces. The result, as you might imagine, was some color bleeding onto (thankfully only) one white pair (of his). (Why do we call them "pairs," anyway?) How does a man get to be 41 years old and not know that you don't wash fuschia and white together? Men are funny.

P.S. It was lots and lots of underwear...and one pair of golf shorts.


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