Today I am washing the sheets on my bed.
DO YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE?
Washing the sheets on my bed.
I usually wash the sheets on my bed once every two months, mostly because my bed is so over-ridden by massive piles of
SHIT that I can't really access them. After two weeks, my bed becomes inaccessible because
I HOARD EVERYTHING so I resort to sleeping on the
glass shard-covered floor next to it, (Beelz doesn't let me sleep in its coffin, it says that I'm a "sleep-hitter").
Then comes a day not unlike today where I decide to regain control of my life after listening to
Cher's "Strong Enough" while picking pieces of
broken root beer bottle out of my scapulas. To recreate this experience, pathetic narhwal, lay on some broken glass and listen to this:
A well-composed video I think.
Anywho, I go toe-to-toe with my bed, so to speak, and decide to wade through the eight-story high piles of
SHIT to wash my sheets.
As I dig through stacks of
Best of Meatloaf Vinyl sets and
Scratch and Sniff giftcards to Barnes and Noble, the darkness at the end of the tunnel grows brighter. This feeling of hope, however repulsive, propels me forward to
confront the two-foot long King snake that disappeared from our sun room three weeks ago.
Now that I have created a pathway and returned
Scuffles (the name of said King snake) back to his
balsa wood cage, I take the hardened sheets off of my mattress. This is a difficult and frustrating process. Usually in the middle of these shenanigans, I start to weigh getting my sheets off of the bed to wash them against forgoing it all and Swiffering the glass and mysterious sticky substance that has coagulated on the cement flooring and make due with what I have.
But I've come too far to throw the golf towel in, minions. I persevere.
As some of you may have guessed,
Beelz doesn't believe in running water. So I make my way to the
Nickle and Dimed Laundromat in the
maroon hurse. Voldemort accompanies me because he likes to eat the mice that live in the hood while I drive.
I get there and it's just as
MORALLY AND ARTISTICALLY COMPROMISING as every other laundromat. Every surface is sticky and the lint screens smell like burnt hair and
SHIT. I limp over to a washing machine and put my crusted ceremonial cloaks into the metallic abyss.
Then...
THE WAITING GAME.
We try to go at odd hours so as to miss the drunk college revelers and
small children. But without fail, there always appears to be a
straggler that got lost or left somewhere along the way who is there before we are. Who has gotten a hold of the remote.
Since I am illiterate (I write these posts and can't read them, so I hope you like what you see whales,) I don't bring a
Teen Vogue to read, so I am forced to stare vacantly at the washing machine cycle or watch this drone's TV trash of choice. More often than not, I'm stuck watching re-runs of
Divorce Court. Not too bad, I think the knowledge I gain from this show is why
I haven't been to jail in at least three months.
But sometimes, I watch infomercials. And this is when I regret going to the laundromat. Though I hate all of wo/mankind (tried to be PC,
it just felt wong,) I have a weakness for late night marketing strategies. Beelz has had to
block HSN from our neighbor's TV (not that I go over and watch it with them as much as I watch their TV with a set of binoculars behind dark drapes,) because if I see it advertised on TV, I will most likely buy it. It started out innocently enough when I decided to collect
Vidalia Chop Wizards, but then it steadily worsened when I decided to collect MORE
Vidalia Chop Wizards.
It's always a game of chance. Anywho, after an hour and a half or so of
Divorce Court prison avoidance tactics or binge purchasing, I take my laundry out of the dryer. Since I only wear synthetic fabrics, (screw you Cotton "Fabric of Life", your
Leona Lewis multi-million dollar ad campaign did NOTHING for me,) everything I fold snaps, crackles, and
SHOCKS THE EVER-LOVING SHIT OUT OF ME.
Nice coathanger moustache.
So after shocking the EVER-LOVING SHIT out of myself whenever I touch anything slightly metallic, I decided to BURN THE INFERNO DOWN.
Yeah, you heard me. TRY NICKLE AND DIMING ME ONE MORE TIME, MAGGOTS.
The wi-fi in prison is great.
Lucy
