The Toof, No. 11

Unfolding The Laundry

It was raining in Eugene, Ore., as it usually was. It was Sunday, laundry day, and for appearances sake, that was a good thing. I shuffled my clothes from my apartment in Chase Village — near Chevy Chase Drive — to the complex’s laundry room, which was a few hundred feet away.

Naturally, I drove.

Once inside the laundry room, I went about the usual routine, separating the clothes into piles: whites, darks, stains, Speedos, one-piece undergarments, keyboard neckties, the panties my mother laid out for me.

As I separated the clothes, I came across a tube sock bunched up and inside-out, the way socks get. I grabbed the sock, and flung it in a downward motion — shoulder to knee — to try to unbunch the bunch.

On the third fling, the bunch partially came undone. The toe of the sock stayed in a bunch, but the middle of the sock extended a few inches.

On the fourth fling, I nearly knocked myself unconscious. With the force of a baseball swing, I flung the sock downward, and hit myself square in the nuts with the bunch. I immediately dropped to my knees and grabbed my crotch with both hands. I opened my mouth to yell, but nothing came out. I stayed in that position for at least three minutes, steadily regaining my breath, composure and self-respect.

Outside, a blonde named Jenny saw the rear view of the entire incident, but couldn’t see the sock through the rain-blotted windows. She asked me later that afternoon why I prayed in an apartment complex laundry room.