Transplanted Life
Monday, March 22, 2004
I hate laundry
There just seems like there's so much more of it to do than there is for a guy, and that's even considering that I'm not like a lot of my ex-girlfriends or other ladies I've known who feel some need to change clothes at some point during the day other than when they get up or when they go to bed. Of course, guys don't have to deal with bras or pantyhose or slips or scrunchies, and even though lots of things have less material, there's more straps and stuff that gets all tangled up, which makes everything take longer.

Today's real irritation, though, was that when I went down to the basement to do my wash, the price on all the machines had gone up a quarter, and I, of course, only had exactly enough quarters to do my laundry with the old prices. I throw it in anyway, figuring I can find some more quarters easily enough.

Ha! No change machines anywhere near the closest T stops, banks close at 4:30, and local businesses opt to be a pain in the ass about just making some change. I wind up buying a $1.20 soda at the local convenience store and then getting the other quarter as change for a small pizza. And by the time that's done, some jerk has my stuff just sitting on top of the dryer in plain view because they couldn't wait ten freaking minutes to let me do it myself.

Grr. I've never liked that kind of laundry-room behavior, especially now that I know that a guy is more likely to get off on handling my panties than a girl was my shorts.

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