So I tend to do most of the laundry for Brother and myself. I’m home most of the day and have time to do it, and it’s the one chore that I really don’t mind. I mean, if I get behind then Brother will do his own, but generally speaking I try to keep up on it. I figure it’s one way that I can give back to him for all the times he’s helped me out this last year.
So the other day I’m minding my own business, getting ready to fold laundry and all that, when I go to open the dryer door. To my surprise, a small projectile comes flying out at my face, inciting a minor panic attack.
I had no idea what had just happened, until I finally saw the grievous offender when it rolled to a stop:
That’s right. The end of one of my brother’s sweatshirts had gotten caught in the door of the dryer and when I opened the darn thing, it shot out at me like a mini bullet. I’m pretty sure I jumped a full foot off the ground:
As I relayed this story to Brother when he came home, he started laughing so hard he couldn’t speak for several seconds. Turns out he had already known this little bugger was about to come off his sweatshirt because the other side had already done so.
“It wouldn’t be so funny,” he said between laughs, “except that it belongs to my Punisher sweatshirt.”
So…apparently I offended the Punisher sweatshirt and it decided that retribution was needed.
I’m not sure what I did to bring about such open hostility, but clearly I did SOMEthing wrong. Needless to say, I will be more cautious when taking out loads of laundry henceforth. Because deep down, I have this feeling that the sweatshirt will always be watching…waiting…until just the right moment comes again….
Who knew that such mundane activities could be so incredibly dangerous? It’s enough to make one want to live in a bubble.
Fortunately, I am still a brave person and am willing to traverse the perilous crossroads for the sake of clean socks. After all, one still has a sense of dignity to maintain.
Despite what certain sweatshirts might think.