Knickers in a twist
I’m slowly chipping away at out-of-control stuff in my return to some semblence of normalcy. Since mopping the floors on Thursday, I’ve cleaned the bathroom (even disassembling the shower drain to find the source of the perpetual musty, mildew smell—and no, you don’t want to know…), the bedroom, the living room, even the landfill I often refer to as a desk.
The last time I wrote about a cleaning fit, November I think, was the last time I did anything more than straighten up or corral the stray dustbunny or hairball.
Yes, the dishes still need to be done. I’m seriously considering just pitching them all off the fire escape and using paper instead.
Tomorrow is set aside for laundry, hence the title of this entry.
All my sweatpants are awaiting the trip to the basement coin-op tomorrow. Sitting around all day in jeans that are just a smidge too tight became uncomfortable, so around dinnertime I dug out a pair of shorts. It’s in the teens outside, and shorts don’t quite cut it when stepping outside for a smoke.
When I hauled on my jeans over the shorts I was suddenly reminded of why I don’t wear underwear. How do kids these days keep their boxers from rolling up their legs when getting dressed? Perhaps that’s the reason behind the unending baggy pants craze. All along I’d thought it was their misguided notion that the entire world is made of underwear fetishists.
Personally, I’d much rather be comfortable. And I’d much rather see a nice ass or basket inside something a bit more form-fitting, instead of someone’s plaid boxers inside half-falling down baggy pants.
But that’s just me.
