Don't touch my sports bras.

I wish there were two laundry machines in our building.

If I had two laundry machines in my building I could do loads of laundry at once, or do laundry with a friend, or cut a large area rug in half and put one side in each machine. 

Last week I put laundry in the washer, and came back an hour later (not very long!) and someone had put half my wet laundry in my laundry bag and spread the other half over the top of the dryer. I don't know what your worst nightmare is but that is mine. 

I moved my laundry to the dryer and spent thirty minutes panicking before I went down to retrieve it, hoping to avoid whoever touched it and BAD NEWS. The person who had moved every sports bra I own was standing right there in the storage-facility-locker-sized room with me. It was the mean guy who likes computers. The mean guy who likes computers is usually sitting on our porch with a computer looking mean and busy.

"Oh, moving them was no problem at all," said the formerly-mean and now weirdly-nice guy who likes computers.  "The only reason I moved them is I was going to dry them for you, but then I realized maybe you wanted some of it to air dry, so I stopped moving them to the dryer and put the rest in the bag."

I said something friendly as I calculated how many seconds it would take me to get out of the laundry room.

Our laundry room has a cool feature where the cement floor dips down in a spot right in front of the dryer, so all this gross brown water pools on the floor just sitting and festering and if your hands are shaking because your neighbor is intently watching you pick up socks it’s the exact perfect place to drop each clean sock until none of them are clean at all anymore. 

"There’s no way those are dry enough already," said the nice guy who likes computers.

“Well, yeah, well, somehow, somehow they are.” I said eloquently and casually, as a wet pair of jeans hit the bottom of my laundry bag and made that loud sound soaking wet jeans make.


If I were in a Meg Ryan movie I would have probably thirteen more terrible interactions with this guy before we would fall in love just in time for the end credits and then hopefully I would meet Nora Ephron on set and we'd become friends forever.

I'm not sure what movie I'm actually in, but it's the sort where I dry my laundry on my bed, sleep on a damp mattress for two nights, and completely re-arrange my schedule so I never see this person again. But it's also a movie where even my neighbors that seem mean offer to dry my laundry for me for no reason. And my socks don't smell that bad even though I dropped them in brown water. And one of my other neighbors has a cat with thumbs.

It's not a movie I'd pay to see, but if it's on Netflix it's worth checking out.

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