Thunderstorms overnight. Two or three? I’m not sure. Definitely one before I crashed out, then one or two in the wee hours. Were they severe storms? They were occasionally loud but I don’t think so.

I had chores and errands up the wazoo this morning but it was pretty darn gorgeous this morning (and warm) so I sat on the deck for a while, organizing my grock list, a relatively meager one, and just soaking up an end of summer morning.

Laundry, grocks (a few), recycle, back out to the moomincabin to pick up my stinky fruit fly attracting green garbage bag and then the dump.

I never know what I’ll encounter at the laundromat. Sometimes weirdness, sometimes not. Today was weirdness. Oh, not the dangereuse kind. Three young turks (early 20s) were in there in MY corner of the laundromat. They might’ve freaked somebody else out. A reeeeallly tall kid with an “I voted for the Felon” t-shirt. A shorter guy with red pajama pants plastered with Betty Boop images.

If I didn’t know that laundromat pretty well, I mightta been freaked out? But I do know the laundromat and the owner was there and the usual bunch of senior citizen couples arguing (or not) loudly (or not) with their spouses. Today it was loudly but we won’t go there.

So I was waiting patiently (really) for the guys to figure out how the dryers worked and after a few minutes felon voter noticed me standing there with my laundry cart and VERY gallantly apologized for himself and his friends and shooed them off. I put my stuff in the dryers… 10 minutes later, I nipped in to pull a skirt out of one of the dryers. I was putting the skirt into Cygnus X-1 when Betty Boop came out of the laundromat. “Miss? This fell out of your dryer.” Oh, it was a Smartwool sock that must’ve gotten stuck to my skirt.

Much later in the day after chores and visits with beloved cousins, Lizard Breath arrived. When I told her my laundromat story, she asked if the dropped item was underwear. Ouch, no, not this time. I’m guessing if it had been underwear, Betty Boop wouldn’t have touched it with a 10-foot pole. And I do not wear granny pants. I wear black Smartwool bikini style underwear. But still.

All of that reminded me of being at Hoton Lake with Grandpa Garth umpteen bazillion years ago. When he would find women’s or girl’s panties in some weird place (dropped from somewhere), he would bring them into the main room (kitchen) of that old cabin, holding them delicately with two fingers, with a sly smile on his face. Make no mistake, this father of 10, grandfather of 19 was NOT CREEPY.

This entry was posted on Saturday, August 23rd, 2025 at 7:01 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.