I Don’t Give A Fuck If It’s My Underwear

23 Mar

A few years ago (okay, fine like five) I found myself doing laundry after my ex-husband had been on tour with the Breeders for 2 weeks and I had spent a week at the Miss Montana pageant. I took our vastly different wardrobes down the street to the laundromat where I not only burnt my hand on a drum key I washed and dried (thanks, Pat) but someone stole one of my pageant shirts from the dryer. And then, as I’m folding our clothes and putting them in our tall white hamper, a man walks up to me, drops something in my hamper and walks away. And naturally I am all HEY HEY HEY. And he’s all WHAT GAH WHAT! And I point out that maybe he THOUGHT my clean clothes were, in fact, a garbage can, but he was wrong. Our convo goes something like this.

Me: “Dude, what the hell? What did you just put in my laundry?”

Him: “Oh shit, sorry! It’s just a pickle.”

Me: “…..”

Him: “It’s okay, we washed and dried it.”

Me: “I’m not even going to get into why you washed and dried a pickle. Take it out of my hamper.”

Him: “But…your underwear are in there.”

Me: “Pickle trumps undies, and those bitches are clean. Do it.”

He did, but he didn’t seem too happy about it. And it’s not like this has plagued me or anything, but what life choices end up with you washing and drying an entire dill pickle?

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One Response to “I Don’t Give A Fuck If It’s My Underwear”

  1. An old Alaska guy March 24, 2012 at 6:14 pm #

    A clean pickle is a happy pickle!

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