Marking Your Territory
Certain things make me wonder exactly how much evolutionary ground we've really gained. Ever seen men swarm around a beautiful girl at a bar like lions around a gazelle carcass? Noticed men pushing each other like slightly less hairless apes? Been a witness or a party to the classic "no, my trunk is bigger!" argument amongst elephants? It's frighting to think of all the disturbing similarities between boys I date and animals. And of course, it's not smart animals like dolphins. It's animals whose brain to body size ratio is distressing small, like opossums.
The animalistic behavior I hate most is definitely the leave behind. Sometimes I happily chalk up items left around my room to general laziness or stupidity. Like the time that I forgot my panties at that kid's apartment on the Forth of July three years ago because I was in such a rush to get out of there without having to talk to him again. These things happen, and are the occasional casualty of having a sex life. I'm willing to put up with a pair of boxers or a sock left casually on my floor. I'd rather it not be there, but I accept it as an unfortunate side effect. If unchecked, this type of laundry aggression only escalates. Before I know it, there's boxers and a t-shirt on the floor. Then somehow, while I'm not looking, it's as though the dirty clothes mate and produce a pair of shorts. At first, I call it an accident and return the clothes to their original owner. Then, after several "accidents", I'm starting to wonder how much laziness explains. Frustrated, I try to return the clothes, but later that day, I notice them still laying on the edge of my bed. Perplexing because I gave them to the person they belong to. In my monthly attempt to clean my room, I angrily throw the two pair of shorts, three t-shirts, two pairs of boxers and a pair of socks into my own laundry basket. After being washed and folded, still the clothes don't make it back to their home. Are they too good for their home? Every few days, clothes disappear from the pile a little at a time. Then one day, they're all gone. I do a victory dance and celebrate my defeat over invading laundry forces!
A mere week passes, and again clothes accumulate. Oh, dirty laundry. You think you're so sneaky but I see you. I refuse to wash you! You may have won the battle, but not the war. Then this morning, dirty clothes in plain sight, your owner asks me if he has any clean boxers there. ! Funny thing about that. I'm not actually your maid.
I'm not actually that annoyed that he thinks he can get his laundry done for free, or that even that he thinks he can leave his shit all over my place. Honestly, I respect that kind of bravado because I would probably try to do the same thing. What pisses me off about the clothing war is that I suspect what this is really about is marking his territory. Beware other boys who enter! I have already been in here!
Just pee on me and get it over with, fucking monkey.
The animalistic behavior I hate most is definitely the leave behind. Sometimes I happily chalk up items left around my room to general laziness or stupidity. Like the time that I forgot my panties at that kid's apartment on the Forth of July three years ago because I was in such a rush to get out of there without having to talk to him again. These things happen, and are the occasional casualty of having a sex life. I'm willing to put up with a pair of boxers or a sock left casually on my floor. I'd rather it not be there, but I accept it as an unfortunate side effect. If unchecked, this type of laundry aggression only escalates. Before I know it, there's boxers and a t-shirt on the floor. Then somehow, while I'm not looking, it's as though the dirty clothes mate and produce a pair of shorts. At first, I call it an accident and return the clothes to their original owner. Then, after several "accidents", I'm starting to wonder how much laziness explains. Frustrated, I try to return the clothes, but later that day, I notice them still laying on the edge of my bed. Perplexing because I gave them to the person they belong to. In my monthly attempt to clean my room, I angrily throw the two pair of shorts, three t-shirts, two pairs of boxers and a pair of socks into my own laundry basket. After being washed and folded, still the clothes don't make it back to their home. Are they too good for their home? Every few days, clothes disappear from the pile a little at a time. Then one day, they're all gone. I do a victory dance and celebrate my defeat over invading laundry forces!
A mere week passes, and again clothes accumulate. Oh, dirty laundry. You think you're so sneaky but I see you. I refuse to wash you! You may have won the battle, but not the war. Then this morning, dirty clothes in plain sight, your owner asks me if he has any clean boxers there. ! Funny thing about that. I'm not actually your maid.
I'm not actually that annoyed that he thinks he can get his laundry done for free, or that even that he thinks he can leave his shit all over my place. Honestly, I respect that kind of bravado because I would probably try to do the same thing. What pisses me off about the clothing war is that I suspect what this is really about is marking his territory. Beware other boys who enter! I have already been in here!
Just pee on me and get it over with, fucking monkey.
posted by The Husskateer at 7:25 PM
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