the final installment of my guest blogger extravaganza comes to you directly from one of the most talented writers out there in blogland. he calls himself the badass geek, and his witty and sophisticated style quickly made him one of my favorites. his words seem effortlessly complex as they create such imagery that refuses to be ignored. i rarely use my blog as a platform to tell other people what to do/read/like, etc., but today i have to just stop the gushing and ga-ga-ing over badass and say trust me, you'll be happy you went to check out his spot. do it. now. i mean, after you read this guest post.
thanks again to all of my wonderful guest bloggers and i'll be back monday! happy weekend!
My dresser drawers are empty and barren -
there are no clean pairs of underwear to be found.
A week’s worth (or more) of dirty laundry has collected
in a massive pile on the ground.
All I’ve got are some mismatched socks
(their mates lost long ago in the dryer),
and a ratty t-shirt with holes in the pits
that my wife threatens to destroy with fire.
To avoid being arrested for walking ‘round nude
(I don’t know if I’d live that one down),
I threw all my clothes into a plastic basket
and make my way to the Laundromat downtown.
It smells of lint and bleach and filth,
and it’s louder than a NASCAR racetrack.
I scout out a washer, put my clothes inside,
set it to wash, and find a seat in the back.
My neighbor to the right is friendly enough,
but he smells like he bathes in cheese.
My neighbor to the left looks like she’s running a short fuse,
balancing a screaming toddler on each of her knees.
There’s the obligatory senior-aged woman,
equipped with a crossword puzzle and a glare.
Her husband (presumably) sits slouched over, asleep,
and farts periodically, completely unaware.
I tried to focus on the book I brought,
and to ignore the noise and the smell.
I came here to quietly wash my laundry,
not knowing this was a portal to Hell.
I thought the worst was all behind me
as I fetched my clothes from the dryer,
but it wasn’t until I began to fold them
when the situation became suddenly dire.
I had a pair of my boxers in hand
when some motion caught my eye.
I looked up to see Geriatric Crossword Lady
smiling at me and looking sly.
She winked and waggled her eyebrows at me,
and my stomach fell to the floor.
This can’t be happening to me again,
not after what happened before!
No longer caring about wrinkles
(that’s what irons were invented for),
I gathered by the handful my clothes into the basket
and high-tailed it for the door.
I thought after I’d been propositioned the last time,
the odds of it happening again had to be small.
Turns out I was wrong, but how could that be?
It didn’t make any sense to me at all.
What is it with me and Laundromats?
How is it that I attract the freaks?
All I know is that I’m going to put off
washing my clothes for a couple of weeks.
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5 comments:
Nice.
I've only been in a laundromat once. It wasn't fun.
Laundromats are not fun.
Not fun at all.
Last time I went to a laundry mat, it was full of roaches. Never again.
Badass, you are seriously funny.
What are these strange laundry places of which you speak?
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