It's My Lot In Life

There are a couple things that provide stability in my life. The primary stabilizer outside of disappointment is laundry. It's a freakish addiction, but it's my happy place. It's my candles in the bathtub if I were a woman.

On that note, as a married individual, or a husband as they are called, I had a gripe about laundry. It was a fly in my ointment. It was a panty liner stuck to well, panties, since that's what they line, right? So, here's the deal. I really don't like finding them in the dryer, ever. So, as a non-married individual, or philanderer as some call it, I've not had to deal with that issue in about three years.

So, today, while I'm minding my own business and doing a load of whites, the most scum and villainous of all laundry when it comes to folding and sorting, I found a fucking panty liner in the dryer. What the fuck? Do the same creatures that steal one white sock or shrink one work sock also put panty liners in dryers? There hasn't even been a panty liner, to my knowledge, in my apartment since I moved in. I found a tampon in my medicine cabinet once that spurred a discussion that didn't end particularly well. As I recall, it ended with someone leaving my apartment with a bag of stuff.

I've since moved past that hangup, but it served as a symbol of doom at the time and I'll still stand by it being that symbol. I'm not totally jaded, however, for the right girl, there is a place in my medicine cabinet for her feminine sanitation products, but that is all time and place driven and should not be forced.

Also, there is no real Hallmark card that says "I like you so much..." on the oustside with a little fuzzy bear and then when you open it it reads "...that you can leave tampons at my house." There could be a market for that one, though. I'd also recommend putting a Starbucks or Target gift card inside if you ever have to give it to anyone assuming that the card gets created.