Always Check your Pockets

My mom always told me if there is at least one thing a man should learn to do, that would be to learn how to do the laundry, she said to always make sure I had clean underwear on no matter what. Well finally I had to learn, I was a frosh in College, even than my mom insisted that I come home and she would do it for me. I guess its one of those things that Mom's love to do for their sons, maybe not. She would always pester me to come back home for the weekend and let her do my laundry. Part of me was always like "hell ya" that way I always knew my clothes would smell spring fresh just like the way I would like them to be. Eventually I learned to just do it on my own, I actually liked doing laundry it sort of gave me time to myself and let me relax in a way and get away from the stress of school and let me just think about nothing while the spin cycle was doing its work.

The years went on and I really to this day never made any mistakes I never bleached anything real bad, separated my colors and became the best damn laundry folder in the South. I mean it didn't hurt that I spent two years at Old Navy folding till my mind went numb. However, it did help shape my folding skills that I made it into an art form. Every sleeve matched up and the pants folded at the exact crease making it look like Picasso just finished another painting. I felt like the clothes were my canvas and there was nothing that I could do to mess it up. Truly master pieces every time

Like I said I never really made any mistakes in the laundry world, there would be a mishap every so often of mixing a few colors but nothing to jump off the deep end. However I knew my day would come and man did it ever, I had put in my colors like usual a few items that I hold near and dear to my heart were mixed in along with some other articles of clothing. This morning I didn't bother to check my clothes just threw them in the dryer before work

Eight hours later, in the midst of hurrying to they gym to show the ladies what they are missing, I flung the door open and nearly had a heart attack. Everything was BLUE, the dryer door, the dryer walls everything. I flung the clothes on the floor only to realize that every inch of the dryer looked like a smurf just got blown up. I ran to my room and inspected every piece of clothing to the exact detail. Of course my swordfish undies didn't get harmed, but then I picked up my most prized article of clothing. My 1985 Jim McMahon t-shirt. The one that I had gotten when I was five for my b-day, Now I'm sure your like what, you still fit into clothes that you wore when your five. Yep only when I was five the shirt was 10x the size of me. It was so big that the shirt would drag wherever I went. It even had tears at the bottom from the floor, but by this time It fit so comfortably. The neck on the shirt was perfect, soft and grey with a huge picture of the "Punky QB" right on the front with his Adidas headband that he made famous.

After I recovered from the aneurysm, I left in disgust to pump Iron and let my frustrations out. I returned home to the open dryer door and I just stood there looking at what I had done and all I could think of was .. The dryer is probably laughing at me and in its own diabolical voice saying" GOTCHA, you thought you knew it all." I quickly asked someone what I could do to rectify the situation and all I needed was alcohol and lots of it. So I quickly asked M if he had any and I began scrubbing like Cinderella. Slowly I began noticing I was slowly becoming lightheaded and weak, before I knew it M was tapping me yelling for me to wake up. Yep, that's right I sniffed so much rubbing alcohol that I passed out on the cold tile floor. I slowly got up and went to the couch and sat there for a good five minutes to recollect my thoughts. I had to finish and make it right because honestly I messed up and this wasn't my dryer. I felt an obligation to clean up the mess I made. So M, made me promise to only clean for 30 seconds at a time. I obliged and began cleaning like a mad man. After an hour, sweat, fumes and tears that my prized t-shirt would not be the same. I though what is the one substance that could cure all ...Bleach. So I jumped in my car, slammed on the glass( bumper to bumper the avenue passed. ). It was a hit and run like I was robbing the store of Bleach. I got home slapped on gloves and went to work....AGAIN. Still no luck, eventually I gave up cleaned the dryer with warm water and prayed that I had done enough to not let any of M's or my clothes face more consequences. I threw in some whites and let god take over. I dried the load and everything was fine, except I knew my shirt was never going to be the same.

I failed to realize in the end that there was one thing that I had failed to remember that my mom had preached and preached like it was Sunday, everyday..... Check Your Pockets before you do laundry.