So I'm at the laundromat next to the Caribou Tavern, feverishly trying to finish up a marathon laundry-folding session. The normal weirdos are in there: some kid wearing house slippers who won't stop smiling, a lady with a mega-perm wearing an Alan Jackson t-shirt, and a couple of displaced frat boys who couldn't stop talking about vaginas. This is all fine with me, as I know I'm not the most normal person in the world, and thank God for a town like Madison to give you some variety - especially in the summer.
Anyway, I'm trying to fold up the last batch of clothes. I won't lie here, I hate folding clothes but I'm restricted to doing mostly this because my closet is too small to hold more than five shirts. Seriously. So yeah, I'm doing this, and in walks some college kid wearing a t-shirt sans sleeves that reads "IT'S ON!" And quickly following after him is the worst BO I've ever encountered in my life. No joke, kids, I almost fell over. At some point I thought I'd start crying and I wanted to run, but all my clothes were spead over the counter and I couldn't leave them. The smell got worse and worse until the idea hit me to breathe through a dryer sheet. Eureka!
My dryer sheet served its purpose well until I finished up and could escape in a timely manner. Thanks, Downy!
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