I went in town to do laundry last week. I no longer have a washer and dryer here at home, and I honestly can't imagine that the floor in the kitchen of this house (which is where the laundry hookups are) would even be able to bear the weight, so it's probably a good thing I don't. Anyway, laundry tends to pile up with a quickness. I was way overdue to get some laundry done, as is often the case, and I filled up my ridiculous Chevy Cobalt (more stories on that at a later date) and trekked in town to the super huge mega load laundromat.
The place I like to go to is the old local Scrub Pub. They got rid of the bar (which is a damn shame, I'd say) but they have these massive 6 load machines that I love. I didn't grab all my laundry, just the mainstays and all the socks and underwear I dared to dig for. It was nice only using two of the six-ers instead of my usual four.
Now here comes the good part. I just so happened to be wearing my favorite jeans (that do awesome things for my butt, or so I've been told). And my favorite bra. And, as I do every day, underwear. And I really wanted to wash those things. Like, right then. I remembered that I had a running skirt in my car from some day weeks back (yes, I meant weeks) when I was planning to go work out.
I proceeded to do what any savvy gal in my position would do. I grabbed the running skirt and headed to the 'mat bathroom. "No you didn't." Oh yes I did. I got mahself nekkid and stripped out of my pants and my skivvies and slipped into my running skirt commando. Nobody in the laundromat seemed to care, though, as I strode out of the bathroom in a new outfit, holding the old one in my arms. Maybe it's because it was an amazing idea.
I'm just gonna go with that.
It didn't stop there. After I had finished folding my clothes and tucking them neat and tidy into my baskets in an awe-inspiring fashion - having used less space than when everything was dripping over the sides like when I arrived - I realized it was Free Pie Wednesday at Village Inn. Hell yeah I deserved some pie!
And off I went. My girls swinging free and a breeze between my knees. A commando on a recon mission. My target? Pie. (Okay, so going commando doesn't make me a commando. I am a Marine, though. I think that gets me honorary commando status. )
That's it, really. Laundromat nudity and hippie pie eating. Maybe it's all normal. Hey, that's cool. Normal is... alright. I guess. But if I had to bet, I'd say this was just another instance where THAT girl struck again.
"What do you mean I have to buy a drink?
The sign says FREE pie!"