Wash, dry, DESTROY!

Right now I am at the laundromat. Two chicks just started rifling through my clothes that are in the dryer because, in the words of one of them: “Someone stole our shit.” She then swore to God, put my underwear back in the dryer and went back to folding her own laundry. This is part of the reason why I love going to the laundromat, and also part of the reason why I fear it. I love watching random people interact over dirty laundry, but I must say it was a bit frightening being in a starring role – at least non-voluntarily. Had the two of them not let up so easy about their “stolen” goods not being in my dryer things could have gotten heated. Voices could’ve risen and detergent could’ve been used as a sad but effective weapon. I would probably have wound up getting aggressive in front of my delicates, and they don’t need to ever see that. They have enough to deal with as it is. Emotionally AND physically.

mostly emotionally.

Another reason I’m glad that they backed off is because our battle would’ve been stacked in their favor. It would’ve been just me against the two of them, and I am wearing slippers. One of them has a neck tattoo, and I’m pretty sure that means she was born with a pair of brass knuckles. Some would say that my gold tooth cancels out her neck tattoo, but even after that equation is calculated into our grudge match I’m fairly certain I hit like Estelle Getty on an empty stomach. I’m comfortable with that as long as it stays in the realms of speculation.

Ah, who am I kidding? It is common knowledge that if these ladies had continued to go through my stuff, my reaction most likely would’ve been to run away screaming, only pausing in order to turn around and throw my purse at them. And probably my car keys. I am a lover, not a fighter; and that is a good thing considering the thin line I already walk between having a good time and getting deported. Adios.