Week Thirty-Seven (July 5 - July 11) Topic: Pink
Winner: Davis
A Postmodern Study Of The Implications Of The Colors Of Laundry On Relationships
By Davis
Introduction
We might have gotten married if she knew how to do laundry correctly. Allow me to elucidate before you jump to any hasty (and/or negative) conclusions. She had been occupying my house for around a week when it all occurred. By all accounts, it had been an amply joyful week and a great relationship; all up until to that fateful day.
For full comprehension of the repulsive events, which are about to eventuate, you need some background information. My name is James Elliot, I’m 27 years old, English and Linguistics major, and now a Linguistics professor at the University of Kansas (FN1). I live in a mid-sized loft in downtown Lawrence, Kansas and live alone (most of the time). The following events took place during Mid-July of last year, I hope you enjoy them much more than I did.
Part I
The incalculable dread of returning to school in a month has begun to loom over my head like a manic-depressive umbrella. I had finally begun work on my Usage Dictionary that upon publication was sure to get me a job in the English department. However, it was looking like no matter how diligently I worked, the book wouldn’t be on shelves for another year or so.
The calendar on the wall informs me that it is Monday and my watch displays the time as 8:30 P.M; I figured I might as well go out and meet Marissa for a drink. Hurriedly, I shove all my reference books back on the gargantuan bookshelf and grab a clean pair of slacks from the dryer. A quick text message reveals to me that she is already at the bar, waiting for me and that I was supposed to be there 15 minutes ago. Shit. I really need to start writing that stuff down (FN2).
Going down my stairs, I venture out into the Lawrence night; truly a beautiful city at night. The neon lights of the bar kaleidoscopically shine with an understated beauty of luminescence. Thousands of people swarm the streets, like a school of fish or a hive of bees, intense at work, or at play. Right in the middle of downtown, behind the courthouse, is a large, verdant garden. Every night on my way to the bar, I walk through this particular garden. It has been my personal sanctuary since I myself attended the University where I now teach (FN3).
Ensconcing on my favorite marbled gray bench behind a huge oak tree, I light a cigarette and inhale deeply. Normally, after an irritated text message from Marissa, I would be sprinting to where she is. However, tonight is divergent from normalcy. I am finally going to ask Marissa to move in I decided, and for some reason, I am floating in an aura of nervousness. The tranquility of the gently swaying arboreal environment soothes my jagged edges, firmly reassuring my intuition. Eventually, I stood up, stamped out my cigarette (FN4), and impelled myself towards the bar.
Meandering languidly through the faces and the arms and the feet and the fingers, the gravitational pull of downtown mysticism overcame me. Heads light of cars dazzle brilliantly and the entire orgiastic mass of humanity takes on a life of its own. The delicate labyrinth of the sidewalk and the street and the people and the shops and the energy stupefies. Finally, I arrived at the bar where Marissa impatiently waited, as much in love as I could be (FN5).
“Your late!” she exclaimed, without to much animosity. “I’m sorry baby, I was working on the dictionary and lost track of time” I replied back, omitting the fact that I forgot we were supposed to meet. “Well, I guess I can forgive you” she shot back with a flirtatious smile. Good, I muse to myself, she doesn’t realize I forget we supposed to meet; I’m having good luck with her already.
We ordered a couple of drinks, and I got a sandwich (FN6). The normal small talk proceeded with regularity and social niceties were exchanged with friends we recognized (and to some others who were quite intoxicated that we didn’t recognize). The night was just like any other night we went out together. Yet, in the recesses of my mind, I was studiously probing for an opportunity to pop my question. On the surface, I didn’t appear the slightest bit preoccupied; yet, the entire time I was far away, almost watching the conversation, calculating an opportune moment to pounce.
After what seemed like an eternity, we finally left and began walking around, hand and hand. Gone were the massive throngs of people, and a melancholy prepossessed all I saw. I directed our route back to garden from whence we came. Upon reaching our destination, we sat on the same bench that I had pondered on just hours before. After getting situated on said bench, I gathered all my courage and suave and manliness and romanticism to proffer my proposition. Looking deep into her luxurious hazel brown eyes, my lips parted and offered up sounds in all of a sudden childish voice (FN7).
“Marissa, would like to move in with me?” I advanced shyly yet with tinges of absolute honesty, with as pure of motives as I could possibly muster. After a few moments of awkward silence that seemed to last as long as time itself she finally replied with a heartfelt “Nothing would make me happier!.” “Whew” I graciously stated “I was hoping that was what I would hear”. “Well, I already take care of you enough as it is” she teasingly replied “I might as well move in full time since I’m over at your apartment at least 5 days a week.” “Yes of course” I slowly responded “When do you want to be moved in by?” “As soon as possible” Marissa said eagerly “I don’t want to have to pay another months rent!” (FN8)
After our romantic rendezvous through our own Garden of Eden, Marissa and I walked merrily back to ‘our’ apartment to consummate our date. As soon as my door was shut and locked, the lights went off and we both hurriedly undressed (FN9) and advanced towards my bed. “I love you, Marissa” I said without a trace of remorse or dishonesty, greed, lust or selfishness. “I love you too, James Foster (FN10)Elliot” she said, with a perceptible crack in her voice, either unbridled glee or a joyful welling of tears in her throat.
Footnotes
(1)Making me the youngest professor at the University. It isn’t really a huge deal, because, who really wants to teach linguistics to Liberal Arts majors who don’t care? It is an ‘entry-level’ job for teaching English years down the road (which is what I really want to do).
(2)Marissa had a habit of making plans for us, without informing me (and then acting indignant when I didn’t ‘remember’ we had plans)
(3)(Although, to be honest, back then it was more of great place to take girls or smoke a joint. Ahhh, youth.)
(4)(Marissa has been bothering me to quit, so I try not to smoke in front of her)
(5)(She isn’t exactly a fan of my inner poet, so my revaluations were quietly kept to themselves)
(6)(I’m never able to eat while working on the dictionary, I get so immersed that I oftentimes really do lose track of time)
(7)(This problem had plagued me since I asked Susan Bloom out in the 7th grade)
(8)(Remember, at this point it is Mid-July, so rent would be due in a couple days)
(9)(Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever got my socks off)
(10)Did I neglect to mention that? Yes, my middle name is Foster. No, it is not for the Australian Lager. I HATE when people ask that. Man, do I hate it.
Part 2
Marissa has been living with me for exactly 7 days when the incident happened. I awoke to her sitting the window, viewing the modest, mouse-colored people beginning their day. I studied her like a textbook of pure beauty. Her auburn hair rested on her shoulder like waves gently floating on an ocean. Her hazel brown eyes contained an unsung poetry all their own, radiating beauty and love at the world below. High cheekbones gave her the look of a European model who hadn’t fully succumbed to a pure cocaine-and-cigarettes diet yet.
She had a large chest, yet not so large that one would question its integrity. As a result of daily trips to the gym, her stomach was flat and toned. The corners of her mouth twanged upward ever so slightly, displaying a smile that was at once sensual and understand and powerful. Her buttocks could have doubled as a masterpiece of Michelangelo, intensely firm and shaped as a gift form the god’s themselves. From her thighs to her calf’s, her legs irradiated pure woman pulchritude; upon stretching out, one could see every muscle in her well toned body strain perfectly in tune with all the others. In short, this woman was much too beautiful to be living with a loser who taught Linguistics and thought writing a usage dictionary was fun (FN11).
“Good morning, my love” I said sleepily, awaking from my slumber. “And good morning to you” she said, almost without turning her head “I have breakfast made and a load of laundry in dry that is almost done.” “I knew I would enjoy having your here” I laughingly said almost inaudibly to myself. “Of course you do, Mr. Lazy-pants. I take care of everything for you” she shot back. I have no idea how she heard me.
Today was the day I met with the heads of the English department to discuss my possible promotion after the publication of my (FN12) usage dictionary. I had awakened about 2 hours before I had to be at the building, assuming I had plenty of time to eat and get dressed and make my way to the University. Leaving her at the window, I got out of bed and headed for the table. Quickly engulfing a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and Orange Juice, I began mentally preparing for the meeting. “You eat like an uncivilized pig” she half-teasingly yelled from the bedroom. After eating my fill, I got up and headed towards the dryer.
This is where things begin to go wrong. The dryer just finishes it’s cycle as I approach to open the door. Gripping the off-white handle, visions of me teaching students studying for English PhDs fill my head like so much sugar plums on Christmas Ever. However, my blithesome fantasy was cut short when I opened the dryer. Every single article of white clothing I owned was inside. My dress shirt, undershirts, socks, and boxers; every single item had turned pink. In the very bottom of the load, I found a bright red camisole (FN13).
Impulsively I shouted, “Look what you did!” Sensing my extreme agitation she disembarked from the window and came to see the problem “Oh my…I’m so sorry what happened” she mumbled. “I’ll tell you what happened, you put in your red shirt with my whites, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I yelled maliciously, in a voice that didn’t seem my own. “I was just fucking helping out, I did you damn laundry, it’s not that bad” she shot back self-righteously (FN14). “Not that bad, not that bad?” I cackled maniacally “I have a meeting with the heads of the English department today, and you turned my dress shirt, PINK!”
“There isn’t anything I can do about it now” she stuttered “Neither of us get paid till next week, so getting a new shirt isn’t going to happen, and not enough bleach in the world will save that load of laundry.” These words fell in a cacophonous heap that floated over both our heads. After a few moments silence I murmured viciously, trying with all my might not to shout, “Get out. You have to get out. Right now.”
“You want me to leave because I ruined a load of whites” she asked incredulously. “Absolutely. This is one of the most important days of my life and I’m going to have to wear a pink dress shirt” I said without a hint of irony (FN15). “If you really want me to leave for a few hours because I RUINED A LOAD OF LAUNDRY, then I don’t think I will come back” she said without any reserve and utmost emotion. “Suit yourself” I said, already beginning to wish I could reel back in the harsh words I’d spoken.
Silently, and with purpose, she began to pack her things (FN16) as I decided weather to wear the pink dress shirt of not. Why is that society looks down upon a man in a pink shirt? For God’s sake, there is a female clothing store titled ‘Pink’! Why must a stereotype of differentiation occur with that color? I never even seen homosexuals exhibit pink ensembles in actuality. I guess I’m a victim of a double standard (FN17), one of the many our society perpetuates.
She mumbles an impassioned goodbye, and slips out the apartment door. I had a feeling that was probably the last time I would ever see those perfect legs and sculpted buttocks walking away from me (FN18). A feeling of aggrandized despair overtook my senses, as if I was drowning my mistake and…misfortune? Oh well, I thought to myself sardonically, a young Linguistics professor can always score another perfectly beautiful cocktail waitress any day. Laughing at my own self-denial, I walked out of the front door of my apartment with pink socks on my feet, and a pink undershirt hovering beneath my pink dress shirt.
Footnotes
(11)The story of how we came to be a couple is both infinitely embarrassing to me and infinitely entertaining for her. I approached her at a crowded bar and procured a Wednesday night ‘pity date’. However, on said ‘pity date’, I pulled out all the stops and proved to be a ‘perfect gentleman’, successfully achieving a second date. I was gawky and shy, but something in me sparked her interest and after several altogether pleasant but haphazard dates, we began dating.
(12)(hopefully wildly-successful and critically-acclaimed)
(13)This actually was a moving-in-gift from yours truly. In retrospect, I wish I wouldn’t have spent so much on a damn undershirt, no matter how provocative it was.
(14)(although extremely defensively)
(15)I must insert that at this point, the average reader is going to think I’m an arrogant monster. I don’t believe this to be true. Meeting with these stodgy department heads in a pink shirt simply wasn’t an option, and yet it was the only option I had. I was furious, and I have never managed my anger well. I get mine in the end, don’t worry.
(16)(She hadn’t even fully finished moving in yet)
(17)(like a girl who has sex a lot is a slut, but I guy who copulates constantly is just a man)
(18)(I was correct…in a way. I saw her a week or so later in a bar, on the lap of one of the universities football players. She didn’t even wave.)
More from Davis:
http://www.goodreads.com/story/list/2160...
More from this contest: http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/1687...
