dirty laundry

1. clothing and linens that need to be cleaned or
2. secrets and lies that are carefully concealed

I don’t have any of the second, but I have plenty of the first. Since the boys are traveling again this weekend, it’s time for another round of laundromat roulette. The odds of winning on a Friday night are nearly non-existent. If it was Tuesday or Thursday night, I might get lucky and have to share the dryers with only one or two people. On a weekday, I might chance out and be with the happy clients. The weekends bring all the crazy people to the laundromat. The guys with their laundry in trash bags who use clorox instead of soap are harmless, but I wish I had the courage to suggest that they at least use a clean bag after their clothes are done. The competitive laundresses who literally tackle you to claim a dryer before you do are ignorable. The cranky, chain smoking owner has posted her schedule so that I can avoid her like the plague. The bane of my existence is OCD girl. I think she’s a royal pita, but if you watched me twitch whenever she is in the laundromat, you would rightfully observe that it is my choice to allow her to annoy me. OCD girl does her entire week’s laundry in one trip. She takes over entire walls of dryers. The thing that makes me grind my teeth though, is her inability to remove a dry load so that someone else can use the machine. She has to remove the clothing, one piece at a time and sloooowly fold each one before removing another piece of clothing. There can be two or three people waiting for a dryer, but she still stands there ignoring the entire wall of dryers filled with her dry clothes. Just thinking about her makes my blood pressure rise. I want to walk over to her, say “let me help you” and empty a dryer so fast she won’t have time to complain. I won’t. I’ll just sip my laundry reward and give her the evil eye. Maybe I should get some cheetos.

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