Stop talking to that sweaty sock!

I made my way home past 5am this morning, the 10-hour non-airconditioned bus ride from nowhere had made me 5 kilograms heavier with soot and dust. I lay my bag on the sofa, and took a large gulp of Pepsi Max from the refrigerator, followed by a generous burp. Home was definitely a great place to be after an adventure.

I walked towards the CR and heard a peep from my old buddies, the laundry. “Psst, hey boss, how was the trip?”
“Pretty good, actually. Thanks for asking.”
“Got us anything?”
“No, didn’t even get anything for myself.”
“Selfish prick.”
“Hey! Watch your mouth or I scrub them with soap!” Thinking back, that couldn’t have been the best retort to their stinky lot.
“(Snickers) Do you think you’d be able to do a batch of us before you go to sleep?”
“I doubt it, pretty tired. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Hmm, hey fellas, anyone know how many underpants this loser still has?” Their leader, the stinky sock, asks the mob underneath.
“Yeah, he’s down to his last one!”
“Looks like a busy day for you tomorrow, bub! Hahahaha!” I hate that sock.
“Shut up, asswipes. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I close the door and insulate myself from the laughing mob.

I take a shower, instantly feeling better and lighter. The drain gobbles up most of the soot and dust and the chlorinated water feels good against my skin after a day’s worth of hard deepwell water. I dry my hair with the towel and open the door once again to the laundry, ready to toss the towel in to cover that stinky sock.

“Hey boss, we were thinking…”
“That’s a stretch.”
“We don’t like that clunky old washing machine that you’ve got.”
“How so?”
“It’s tearing us up to pieces. Have you seen your old dress sock recently? The elastic band has been stretched to its limits. Not to mention your tidy whities over there. They look like they’ve seen better years, if you catch my drift.” I look at the old washing machine and wonder what the fuss was all about.
“I set it on delicate, guys, you can’t be serious about getting pummeled as much as on the perma press setting.”
“The wash is okay, but the spin cycle…” Yes, I do realize I’ve been setting the spin dryer to the maximum 5 minute mark.
“So you’re suggesting I not use the spin dryer?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, I can’t not use it. Do you know how hard it is to wring each one of you? Specially those blue denims?”
“I was talking to your Barong Tagalog back in the closet, seems like he’s been to the cleaners recently. Did you know that they don’t spin dry over there?” Number one: I can’t figure out how this sweat sock got into a conversation with the barong, he is usually in the sock drawer while the barong is hung in the main cabinet. Number two, I actually have no idea what the guys at the cleaner do with my stuff.
“So what do they do over there, anyway?”
“They tumble dry.”
“And you’re point, being?”
“Maybe you should get one of those electric tumble dryers.”
“Or maybe I should get more sensible socks?”
“Hey, it’s not just me, bub. Ask the other guys.” They were all nodding in agreement. Effin’ ingrates!
“Do you even know how much one of those things cost? Not to mention how much electricity they consume?”
“Well, of course, you’re the boss of us. But do you remember that nasty rash that you got when you wrung that blue shirt of your’s a bit too much?” Hmm, I do recall the rash, but didn’t think it was because of me wringing my shirt.
“So you’re actually blackmailing me? And at this early hour?” The stinky sock grins a reply.

I close the door and mumble curses at the laundry. I will not be blackmailed by such a stinky bunch! I go into my room and fell asleep almost instantly. Curiously enough, I woke up to this nightmare involving my clothes instantly shredding themselves off me while I’m doing the groceries. Great.