Yes, my unmentionables. I'm talking panties-and the Laundromat and the girls.
I hate going to the Laundromat for this reason. There are no secrets there among us patrons. I can hide nothing. I am never more exposed to strangers than when I am fluffing and drying a wide array of panties and nighties and bras in full view. It is a place where we literally air our dirty laundry in public. Unfortunately, there is no avoiding it unless I wish to wash my unmentionables by hand and then suffer with the feeling they are not clean enough and feel stiff without the dryer to soften them.
It is an odd ritualistic dance among the musical machines. We don't speak-we glance furtively from the corners of our eyes. It is not a place really to chit chat with the loudness of the giant room. I find it difficult to make small talk as I attempt to fold my nighties without anyone looking at them while I do it. And I am ashamed to admit that I am a creeper to the fifth degree when it comes toRead More »from The Unmentionable