Sunday, October 5, 2014

this is her nightmare

photo: Worapol Sittiphaet

Tonight before dinner, I was doing a load of laundry in our in-home washer and dryer.  While this may not seem luxurious to most readers, my friends with young families appreciate how not having to share laundry facilities with two dozen of your "closest" apartment complex meth addicts friends makes you feel like the upper crust.

The top of our dryer was cluttered with various detergents and laundry supplies as it has been since we moved into our new place, so I started rearranging the shelves in the cabinet above the washer so the bottles and boxes could be stowed neatly out of sight.

As I tipped one of the shelves to slide it out, I heard a rattle as a small object sitting on top of the shelf slid down the tilted shelf. I reached up to grab the object, which I couldn't see because I'm a half-Indian hobbit.

The object was about the size of the metal hangers on the back of larger picture frames, but it was plastic, with a little bit of metal on the back. I rubbed my finger over the metal part, and, oh no, it was sharp.

Looking a little closer, I realized to my horror that it was the head off of a USED Lady Schick razor. Complete with little bits of hair stuck in it. From the previous owner.

After I considered bathing in bleach, I felt a twinge of compassion for our friend Taylor who has a severe aversion to the community laundry room on the college campus where we used to be neighbors.  Taylor, this dry heave's for you.

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