By: Sofia Chassomeris, News Writer
One hour post-wash
It’s been a soggy 60 minutes. The Human hasn’t been around to check on us yet, and it’s starting to get a little cramped, but we’re hanging on. This isn’t our first rodeo. We socks and undies have been in the wardrobe game for years. We’ve seen it all, from dust bunnies to cobwebs along baseboards, but that new cotton t-shirt? She won’t make it to tomorrow. I hope, for everyone’s sake, we get out of here before then.
Three hours post-wash
This is ridiculous. The Human frequents this establishment — the small, tiled room where us clothes are put to wash — multiple times a day, and completely ignores us. We watch through the circular glass as the flesh-being adorns itself with pretty, pressed denim and bone-dry garments and its glazed eyes pass over our little window without care. Please. It’s starting to smell.
12 hours post-wash
The shirt didn’t make it. The subtle stink of mildew seeps over from her side of the washing barrel and suffocates us all. This metal bed is a breeding ground for bacteria, now. The Human will have to rewash us.
Oh, Human. Please remember us, your loyal friends. Do we not keep you warm or attractive enough, is that it? Have you grown tired of our fading tones and tearing fibres? We long to see sunlight, please — the real thing or the bar soap, we will take either!!
24 hours post-wash
If the Human doesn’t come back for us soon, we’ll all perish. We know how it goes. It forgets us for one day, then another, and the next. After a while there comes a point when forgotten clothes can no longer be rewashed; the Human will bear the stench of mould and apathy no matter how many cycles it spins us on. It may very well be that this is our last time in the washer, with how things seem to be going. Farewell, Human. Hello, thrift store donation bin.
36 hours post-wash
Alas! The Human has come to its senses (or, singular sense, of the nasal variety) and finally bathed us anew. The cotton shirt . . . it may take her a few washes, but she’ll be singing to the tune of Tide Pods and rose petal dryer sheets soon enough. Twin sibling socks are reunited in the clean laundry basket, that one pair of shorts with a stain on the thigh is saved, and all is well. Until next time,
Yours truly,
The threadbare boxers you should definitely keep forever, please don’t get rid of me
