This morning, I was putting away our laundry.
We don’t have laundry in our building, like many folks renting apartments in New York, so we send ours out. It’s cheaper than going to the laundromat in our neighborhood, plus our laundromat is Sketchy with a capital S. There is a super cute laundry stealing ring (?????) so we prefer to stay out of the criminals’ way. Our regular wash and fold dyed all of our laundry pink last week (which is, you know, ADORABLE) so we switched it up to a company who I will name. Next Cleaners. Next Cleaners made me into a true New Yorker.
So I was putting away our laundry, and I come across a pair (I believe it would be called a pair, yes?) of white lacy underwear. Now, these are not mine. In fact, I don’t know how this would fit an adult woman. It looks like a g-string for a baby. A very small, premature baby who wears very sexy white underwear. So I tossed it in the garbage.
I THEN KEPT PUTTING AWAY OUR LAUNDRY.
I BACKED OFF AND SAID:
YOU JUST THREW AWAY SOME NASTY G-STRING LIKE IT WAS NO THING.
IT WAS IN YOUR LAUNDRY.
AND YOU KEPT ON PUTTING AWAY YOUR LAUNDRY.
SOME STRANGER’S G-STRING WAS TOUCHING YOUR ROCK OF AGES STAFF SHIRT.
AND YOUR WEST ELM PLACEMATS.
AND YOU WERE LIKE, OH, HMM. GONNA THROW THOSE AWAY. AND THEN PUT MY TOWELS IN THE CLOSET.
Is that what New Yorkers do? Throw away strangers’ g-strings and then get on the subway and go to work and smoke cigarettes and eat dinner in the West Village? Is that a true New Yorker?
ALSO I TOUCHED A STRANGER’S WHITE G-STRING WITH MY HANDS.
Happy Freakin Monday.