Doing the laundry today I was faced with a bit of a dilemna upon entering the building’s tiny laundry room. Lying sad and prostrate in the middle of the linoleum floor under the harsh fluorescent light was a dark purple, frilly thong with flowers on it. Right in the middle of the floor. Dark purple against off white. No sign of socks, not even lint in the lint trap. Whoever did their laundry last was thorough, and yet, this offering.
Initially I worked around it, but the laundry room in my building is really just the cubby hole under the stairs, there’s not a lot of maneuvering room. I briefly contemplated taking a picture of them, afterall it is a poetic image the most private, sensual and personal laying there in the open in the most functional and mundane of spaces. But then, if anyone actually saw me taking the picture, particularly the owner… Sick. They would call me sick.
By the time I got to drying time the thong was still there, still alone and forgotten. I carefully picked it up and hung it on one of the taps on the wall. Being a man I couldn’t help but imagine where they came from. It was a nice thong, damn sexy. It’d be a pleasure to remove them I’m sure.
Suddenly that building party idea is sounding like an even better idea.
Oh and in a strange synchronistic vein, the protagonist’s underwear in Skinny Legs and All is personified. Yes that’s the book I just finished reading last week. If only these panties could talk…