Laundry.

An issue that, for lo these past 4+ years, hasn't been much of an issue with me. I had, until recently, owned a washer and a dryer, and within the confines of these 2 metal boxes, I could guarantee to find myself a treasure trove of freshly dried, fluffed, and freshly softened items by a mere lifting of the lids.

As I have recently learned: Times change.

I now live in an 8-plex building with one washer and one dryer unit on the property. I had quite forgotten about jockying for position to get the stank out yo' clothing and unmentionables. (My unmentionables aren't really that unmentionable. They are cotton, mostly grey or black, and have the word "Jockey" stitched across the waistbands. I have been an advocate of the boxer-briefs for nearly 10 years now, mostly because boxers make you look like Dad during a weekend-football bender, and briefs...who the fuck over the age of 12 wears briefs? Underwear models and guys who tuck their tshirts into their underwear. That's who.)

I found myself tonight having to snake my way into the washer in between the loads of one of my neighbors. I gave the resting washer a good 10 minutes before scrambling downstairs and dumping in my stinking hamper. As I strode back towards the front of the building, I heard my downstairs neighbor open his door briefly and state flatly, "Shit," and close his door.

Sorry, friend. All's fair in love and a load of darks.