I’m hot and grumpy and hating kids right now. The entire laundromat is covered wall to wall in small children. In the washers. In the dryers. Screaming, crying, whining children. I’m a little bit worried that I’ll get home, be shaking out my sheets, and a small child will launch across the room. At present, two little kids in front of me are crawling into a double load washer. I just kind of want to lean forward and give them a little shove. I’m pretty sure you can’t open those doors from the inside…

Occasionally you’ll hear someone say that he or she likes kids “as long as they’re someone elses’ “. This is usually a pretty clear indication that that person is a shitty parent. My kids would be so well mannered that the kids from “The Sound of Music” would look like slovenly brats next to my angels. Now, it’s everyone elses’ kids that I can’t deal with. Where the hell are their mothers? Perhaps in their drunken state, they confused the laundromat with the local day care…

I think this experience has given me a whole new point of view on Father’s Day. I was such a sweet, polite child that frankly, I think my father should be giving me a thank you gift every June 17th. Now, if I was like knocking over McDonalds or something like that, well, then, hell, he’d deserve a kind of “I’m sorry I suck/ It wasn’t your fault” Father’s Day gift. Perhaps, something along the lines of a car… Of course, I guess you could argue that it was all his hard work that made me into such a sweet, angelic child; but frankly, I don’t really want to hear your damn opinion.

Anyway, back to the laundromat. To make the whole experience just a wee bit more miserable, some guy has just changed the TV channel. This pisses me off for two reasons: 1. He’s a selfish bastard 2. “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” was on, and it was the scene at the end, where Ferris is racing home.

Of course, I exclaim “What happened to Ferris?” At which point, my room mate gives me a little finger twist on her temple which is the universal signal for “this guy is completely nuts”. Of course, at first, I don’t quite believe her. Now granted, he has an unusual fashion sense including wearing a sock on his left hand. But hey, I’m a hip, happening kinda girl- I can appreciate a new style. But then, I notice that he has just put on the Yankees game. This is, of course, not to imply that all Yankees’ fans are crazy. It’s just that whereas most fans may watch the game and scream at the players for not “earning” their 35 million dollar salaries; my crazy laundry companion feels impelled not only to scream at the players, but also to demonstrate what they are doing wrong.

Allow me to explain… At present, there is a runner on first base. My little nutcase here wants him to steal second base. This is blatantly apparent, because he is whispering “Steal. Steal.” while at the same time, slowly edging towards the right. Now in some weird coincidence, the batter does actual steal base at which point my laundry guy starts sprinting in place! Of course, by now, I’m considering abandoning all of my clothes, and just going shopping first thing in the morning. Thank God there’s not a golf tournament on TV. I wouldn’t be able to go within 3 feet of this guy out of fear that his swinging arms might knock my head off (Of course, at this point, there’s no way in hell that I’m going within 10 feet of this lunatic anyway…)

Oh well, suffice it to say that in September, I’m moving to an apartment building with its own washers and dryers (and preferably one with no kids!)