A Perfect Little Day for a Raincoat

“Live from the Laundrette” has already been used as a title twice. It seemed witty the first time, a nice chapter marker the second time but… I thought it would sound dumb for a third time. So, just for reference – I’m at the laundrette.

To my left are a boyfriend and girlfriend arguing in front of a dryer. He’s trying to “fold his shit” while she’s trying to “find her perfect little bra thing” and “throwin her shit all up over his shit.” She seems to think that if her “perfect little bra thing” doesn’t come out of the dryer stat, that some “shit” will happen. Meanwhile, in an attempt to make things worse he is grabbing her stuff and “chucking it on top of her shit,” so she doesn’t have a chance to “fold that shit.”

They’re Americans.

Before leaving for a month of back packing in less than 48 hours, I decided I needed to at least START the trip with clean clothes. I put in my suitcase what seemed to be “a sensible week’s” worth of clothing. While it all is getting washed, that sensible week’s worth of clothing is going to be cut in half and I’m going to just wear dirty clothes half the time. Score.

But really, who goes backpacking and has clean clothes to wear every day? My brother has gone back packing a few times and while we never directly discussed the laundry issue, I’m pretty sure he was not carrying with him “a sensible week’s worth of clothes.”

I don’t have very much to write today – so I’m going to tell you a story I’ve had on my mind for a few weeks that just hasn’t seemed to fit in with any other post I’ve written so far.

Before baseball practice season kicked of, I knew I needed some appropriate workout clothes. I also decided, being a catcher, I needed to get a cup. I headed into town with Sam, who knows all of the places that would sell such things. We find a store that has track pants and what have you, and then I find myself a nice cup for $6. (That thing only needed to save my unborn children once to pay for itself… and such it has done!)

Anyway, so I get the cup and ask Sam “how does the thing stay in place?” He tells me that my boxers will hold it there. Sam and I have done laundry together enough times for me to know that what he calls “boxers” are very different from what I call “boxers.” We debate about whether or not mine would hold them in place. Sam is sure they will. I inform him that unless this cup is capable of defying gravity, it’s not going to stay. We leave the sports store and head off in search of a place that sells what Sam calls boxers.

Sam informs me, “it doesn’t matter where you go. Underwear is expensive.” (My theory that important things are cheap in England, while unimportant things are expensive in England means that these Brits are freeballing it 90% of the time… unless my theory is incorrect, which is highly unlikely.)

So, we find a store that’s selling 3 pairs of what Sam calls boxers for $40, and though I truly believed we could find them cheaper some place else (like I don’t know… ANYWHERE!) Sam has a class to get to and I’ve got practice. I pay for them and we head back.

All works out fine with both the cup and the boxers. It wasn’t until I washed them the first time that I noticed the tag. This was a separate tag from the “instructions for laundering” tag. It’s bigger. The font is bigger and it reads “KEEP AWAY FROM FIRE.”

Something had to have happened somewhere along the line that made this tag a necessary edition to these incredibly expensive underwear. Did someone light their ass on fire then try to sue because there wasn’t a warning telling him not to? Are the underwear I have just purchased especially flammable?

Somewhere along the line there was a meeting. Professional people in suits sat down at a big long table and discussed the pros and cons of including a tag specifically to warn people to keep them away from fire. These hard-working men and women made a decision on this issue, and the decision was that this was an important addition to the underwear and I can only describe that with one word – amazing.

But that’s not all. I noticed shortly thereafter another addition. There was a small black sticker on 1 of the pairs. It was on the front of the underwear – front and center. Right in the middle of the action. It was a small, black, circular sticker that read only three small font words. “NEW AND IMPROVED!”

If only it had been screen printed...