Laundry Groom

This morning I managed to get down to the laundry room and back up again without anyone seeing me. On one hand, I was very happy, because although my loungey pants from Anthropologie, nice-fitting black Gap T-shirt, and Chinese slippers (no, not those hideous meshy sorts that all the girls are wearing out on the street … please, I wouldn’t even wear those things to dispose of a corpse) certainly made for a cute “around the house” ensemble, I wasn’t too keen on anyone seeing me dressed to anything less than the fives. On the other hand, I wasn’t very happy, because I had taken the time to apply a light smudge of eyeliner and “barely there” lipgloss in the event that the Academy Award Winning Actor (AAWA) who lives in this building (no, I will not tell you who it is) was also in the laundry room for an at-dawn laundry (a/k/a dawndry) experience. Alas, he was not there. (I just gave you a clue, by the way. You now know that the AAWA is a fella.)
I brought my dried dawndry (still warm!) back upstairs and folded it, noticing that, true to Erma Bombeck form, one of my socks is missing. I’d like to think the AAWA confiscated it and is now sitting in his apartment fondling it and wondering how to find his Cinderella.
Gift suggestion:  Exchange the hilarious novelty T-shirt that proclaims, “My Life Is A Soap Opera!” that you bought for me and replace it with one that says, “My Life Is A Fairy Tale!”