(Note- This may or may not fall into the realm of overshare. I don't really give a rip. My blog, my rules. And it's kind of funny)
It was along few weeks and I managed to avoid doing laundry for quite some time. This would normally be no biggie, however I made the error of waiting until the weekend to wash a load or two and my roommate-who has been juggling work and rehearsals and therefore busy as well- asked if he could co-opt the laundry room today. (This wound up being a 9am to 6:30 pm task. He told me later that he fell asleep in the afternoon and woke up drowning in the clothes he had carefully set folded around him.) What does this all mean, you ask? Well it's quite simple. I was relegated to the back of drawers. Where the old concert t-shirts live. The pants that you only take out to do lawn work. Or wear as pj's when no one is around. And most devastatingly of all...
It's where the terrible underpants live. (shudder)
Not terrible, just not nice. A little old (read: smaller sizes) and usually the pairs I break out to go on outdoor runs in. This particular pair, we'll call them "Hamburglers", for their particular print- We're worn while doing some manual labor over the weekend. While stripping down for my evening shower, I heard the unmistakable sound of sand or grit falling on the floor. When I looked down...a long...lingering glance...sure enough- There was a pebbly dirt like substance by the sink. (Okay, fine. I kicked them off of one leg in the air and caught them. And some of this dirt showered down on my face. Happy?) I was confused, since I wasn't in the garden or doing anything that got me overtly dirty. And when a few more dusty grit pieces came off I...
Okay, so there's this pocket under the crotch-al region on guys boxer-briefs. Where the fabric crosses over and together? Forms a natural pocket. Okay? And I pinched it between my thumb and forefinger towards the way back. (Read: Where the dudes 'tween' begins) and it felt...bumpy. I turned them inside out and almost immediately realized what I was holding:
These were the drawers I wore on the Mud Run. These went in the bag with the rest of my ensemble and were thrown in the communal bucket with both my and Moda's clothes for the pre-wash then subsequently the washer. So some silt/grit/bog bits/puddle pebbles/brown frown must have gotten trapped in there. (Remember how long I said my shower took? How there was dirt, literally, everywhere? How many Q-tips I needed? The biggest piece I found in the Hamburglers was much smaller than a BB pellet, but still)
I'll need to re-check this next year when I make a list of pros and cons of doing the run again.
Gross.
1 comment:
If you do it again, get a pair that doesn't have that, or stitch it closed from both sides. That should help.
That is more proof that the Mud Run is not my bag, baby.
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