That damn laundromat. Doesn’t anyone care anymore? Leaving their nasty undies in the dryer to mix with my cloths. Isn’t this the age of Covid? Shouldn’t someone have checked?
Now I have these washed and dried but still foreign red polka dotted sheer panties. God knows whose they are or what has been in them? It is difficult not to wonder about the person selecting these. I can see the fingers of my hands too clearly when I hold them up to the window. Sun spilling red polkadots on my kitchen vinyl. They were not meant to cover but reveal. My fingers moving within the delicate fibers. I lower my nose to sniff and smell only Downey. So clean now. I wonder who. I wonder if they are satisfied. I wonder why they came to me.
What is the thing to do with these? Take them back and put them in the Lost and found bin, or burn them and roast marshmallows for s’mores with them? I think I’ll burn them. Lucious, just thinking about it. Melted chocolate, puffy white mounds catching fire, charring quickly into flames...insides sticky too sweet and hot, so hot.