Boy meets girl in the basement laundry of the apartment building. They fall in love.
Or depending on which genre you enjoy...they could be banging on the sorting table.
Sounds a bit cliché doesn't it. I'm sure it happens though, but not in my world. At one point I had three boys at home, all playing school football AND I washed one of the team's jerseys every week. Talk about a mountain of stinky laundry.
|Beware of voyeurs such as a cat in a basket.
What's it like at my house these days?
You might me stacking neatly folded, warm towels with Flyboy's hands on my hips as I sway to the rhythm of the music. His breath tickling the back of my neck as he places kisses upon my neck.
You get the picture.