Rather than waiting for two weeks of laundry to accumulate, I decided to drag a couple small loads to the local launderette this afternoon. I won't be off work again until Sunday and by that time I would run out of nicer underpants, black socks and slacks.
The laundromat is adjacent to the Phillips 66 station. I get a free soda or coffee for doing my laundry there. Yeah, I know. Chill on the envy monster. You all can't live my high-glamour lifestyle. Vicarious living, baby.
I was the only patron on the wash and dry side. While my clothes were agitating I read excerpts from Chuck Klosterman IV. For me, that book is great when you don't want to get too deep in a plot. It's just articles taken from his various gigs with Esquire, Spin, etc...
I found myself quite parched and while I don't always partake in the freebie soda, I decided today was the day. I wish they offered water. I really need to lay off the soda. While I was attempting to get the right ice to soda ratio in my cup, a young woman and (as I'd learn later) her grandmother toted their baskets into the laundromat. This is where my reading ended.
It's not that they were being disruptive. It's not as if reading Klosterman requires silence or deep concentration. I was distracted by the attire of the young woman. I would guess her age being late teens or, at most, early twenties. Her back was to me when she first garnered my attention. She was wearing two skin tight shirts. They showed off her spilling muffin tops splendiferously. I'm sure that's the look she was going for. However, that's not what caught my eye. What made me double take was the odd stain on the lower part of the shirt. It was an elongated splotch. Damn me for not managing a stealthy photo. I've often had big drippy splotches like that on the front of my shirt when I eat a sloppy chili cheese dog or any such food that oozes when you bite into it. This was on the back. The stain location was approximately the lower back area. I've provided an artists rendering of the rear endery stainage.
I continued to observe.
She wore tight, lemony yellow (stained) knee length sweat pants. Naturally, they had lettering blazing across her tuchus. LOVE. Except the 'V' was replaced with a heart.
She turned to face me and I noticed her gushy goo belly was flopped over the top of the sweat pant waistband. The layered shirts were just long enough to cover the fleshiness of her protruding belly, but I wasn't fooled. I have yet to discern if she was pregnant (which wouldn't give much credibility to my theory on what the lower back area shirt stain was. heh.)
Another question on fashion trends: When did it become acceptable to flop one's gut over waistbands and just let it all hang out? I realize Vanity Fair glorified the nakedness of Demi Moore's pregnant body, but snap back to reality, people! I suppose beer bellied men have been letting it all gush out; women wanted their turn to do the same. It's STILL unsightly.
The young lady (pregnant or not) pulled her quarters for the machines from a purple bag with gold stitching. I recognize that bag! CROWN ROYAL! I have a few of those suckers jammed in a drawer in my kitchen. I felt it was wasteful to throw them in the trash; yet, I have yet to find a purpose for them. I thought maybe one day I'd take up quilting and stitch together a spectacular throw blanket. Or perhaps I could cut open the bags and then sew them together to make large pillows to kneel on. You know, for when I go insane and take up or make u[ a new religion.