Bleachy Clean

Once upon a time, when I was in college, I was laundering a small load of white Oxford shirts because I was a waitress, and these are the sort of things they make waitresses wear. With a tie. It was awesome. Moving on.

So, I was trying to get to my shift on time with a clean and glowing white shirt. I ran to the Laundry Room on my floor and yanked my whites out of one of the communal $1 dryers, then shuffled back to my dorm room. As I sprinted down the hall, it occurred to me that the load in my arms felt a little bulky... but I dismissed this feeling of suspicion and unease since sometimes fluffy, freshly-dried things can seem like this.

As the whites fell out of my arms and onto my extra-long twin for folding, I quickly discovered why it felt like I was carrying more laundry than just a few white shirts. I was carrying more than just my Oxfords! There were stowaways in my load! And NOT white kittens!!!

There, lying amongst my laundry, were gnarled gym socks… some stained wife-beaters… and tighty-whities.

Some cheap, dirty punk on my floor must have thrown his “whites” (and I use that term loosely, because many of these items were hardly what I would call white anymore) in with mine to save $2 and detergent! The knave doubtlessly planned to sneak in and abscond with his whites before I came to collect my laundry, but his plan was foiled when I came early.

I carefully separated his laundry from mine and dropped it in an old shopping bag, using the hook of a hanger as a make-shift claw, so I wouldn’t have to touch it. It was foul, but not nearly as foul as having to wear my tainted clothing later that night. I left the bag sitting ominously on the dryer.

I tell you this story, dear readers, so that when your cat sleeps on your freshly-laundered clothing, you will think of this tale and rejoice, because it could have been worse. Much worse.

A white kitten (or any kitteh, really) is so much better than a stranger’s tighty-whities, don’t you agree?