Folding My Girlfriend’s Laundry: An Internal Monologue

This is what happens when you try to do something nice.

The cat has nothing to do with this story about laundry. However, it is an undeniable fact that cats love laundry baskets. They think laundry baskets are spaceships that can be flown back to the feline homeworld, Catopia. This cat is currently trying to haggle down the price of hyperspace rocket fuel, and she’s driving a really hard bargain. I’m not convinced she has enough galactic credit to make good on her offer of 100 Space Dollars. I don’t think the Galactic Bank will make good on the personal check she tried to write me. I could be wrong, but last time I checked, she doesn’t have a job. In fact, she spends most of her time lying around waiting for me to feed her. So why should I believe she can muster up the funds to make the long trip to Catopia? It doesn’t seem like a wise investment, no matter how many slaves I am guaranteed after her return in the impending Cat Apocalypse. This entire conversation is taking place via telepathy, so that’s why it looks like she’s just sitting there. But trust me. It’s happening. It is in no way a figment of my imagination or a subtle cry for psychiatric help. Nope. Not that.

Ok, here we go.

*Tips contents of laundry basket over onto floor

These are going to be the easiest points I’ve ever scored. I mean, look at this laundry pile. It’s half the size of mine. I’ll be done in, like, ten minutes — tops.

I guess I’ll start with this…shirt? Blouse? No one ever explained the difference to me. I’m just going to call it a shirt.

God, I suck at folding. Oh well. I’m trying my best here, dammit. That’s got to be worth something, right?

Okay, this one here is a definitely a tank top. I’m almost 95% sure that’s what it is. It has straps, see? That’s a tank top in my book.

*crumples halter top into a pathetic rectangle

Well, that was a shitty folding job too, but I’ll get better with practice. What’s next?

Alright, we’ve got a…it’s a…uh…what is this?

I don’t think I’ve ever seen this before in my life. Does she wear this all the time? I’m not even sure what part of the body it’s supposed to cover. It must not be a big part. I mean, look how tiny it is. It’s frilly, so that’s good, right? I like frilly stuff. I’ll just wad it up and put it over here until I figure out what pile it belongs in.

Oh, sweet! A G-string! I must slingshot it across the living room — for science.


Haha, oh man. That was awesome. I don’t know how girls walk around in these things. It must be uncomfortable having a little string flossing your thermal exhaust port all day.

Heh, maybe I should try it on and find out for myself.

Nah! Just kidding. I’m not…I’m not going to…

I mean, I probably shouldn’t, right? That would be an invasion of privacy or something. Yeah. I shouldn’t do it.

*twirls G-string around finger

Look, I’m not trying it on, okay? I’m only shutting the curtains and blinds because it’s so bright outside.

*looks around nervously.

But why shouldn’t I try it on? Men wear women’s underwear all the time. I hear it’s a thing in Europe, and we all know how enlightened those people are. I’ll admit it might be a little strange because I haven’t really asked if she’s cool with it, but…I mean…I’m a pretty clean guy.

*begins pacing

Besides, I’ve never had the experience before, and I think you should try everything once — I mean, except for, like, meth or something. But this isn’t meth. It’s not even close to meth. So what am I worried about?

Hey, look. My pants are already off. When did that happen? Well, there’s no going back now, I suppose. Let’s just get it over with.


Ok, it’s on.


Oh wow. This is…remarkable. I feel so free! I…I have to sit down on something right now! The leather chair! Quickly!

*dives onto leather chair

My god, this is glorious. This is a symphony of sensation! It’s smooth and cool and my butt. My butt is touching the chair and nothing else. Not a single goddamn thing. Direct contact. Houston, we have made contact.

Alright…alright…okay…alright. Calm down. This isn’t a typical experience. Nobody just walks around in a G-string. What I need to do is put my pants back on to get the real representative experience.

*pulls on jeans

Oh. My. God. Who knew jeans felt so good? I’ve never experienced my pants so intimately before. It’s like my cheeks have been released into the denim wilderness. It’s magical. Hmmm, looks like we’ve got some containment failure up front, though. It’s a bit of a crowded house, if you know what I mea —

What’s that noise? Is that the door? She’s not supposed to be back yet! I thought she worked late today.

*door clicks open in the other room

Oh shit. It’s definitely the door. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. I’ll just…uh…keep it on until I can slip into the bathroom and swap it out for my warm, manly boxers. And then I’ll sneak this G-string back into the pile when she’s not looking.

“Hi! I’m home. Where are you?”

Oh my god. I’ve never been so scared in my life. Breathe, dammit! Breathe! Play it cool and we’ll get through this. You can do it. Get out there and act normal. You’re a winner, got it? Don’t forget. You. Are. A. Winner.

“Oh! Were you folding my laundry? You’re so sweet!”

Okay. I’m going out there. God, if you’re up there, be with me now.

— JB Swihart