I had just finished gathering all my clothes from the washing machine and stuffing them into my laundry basket. I had to hurry up. I had so much to do: one paper to finish, one project to start, one roommate to console, and one mother to call. I turned to leave, when I practically ran into some guy who was looking down... At my boobs?
I was about to tell him to stop being a perv when he said, “Pink Floyd?”
“Huh?” I asked, distracted. I looked down. Sure enough, he’d been looking at my shirt. “Oh. Yeah.”
“You like them?” He was smiling. And he was cute. As if someone flipped a switch inside of me, I changed from indignant to flirty.
“No, I don’t. You caught me. I’m a fraud.”
He gasped, in fake outrage.
“I know! But I’ll have you know I bought this shirt with full intention of liking Pink Floyd… and when I listened to them, and figured out I didn’t, I thought about getting rid of the shirt, but it’s just so comfortable.”
“Hmm. I don’t know. You still seem rather imposter-ish to me.” He eyed me suspiciously, a small grin on his face. He was big, a football looking type. He had really short light brown hair, and warm chocolate brown eyes. There was a generally happy air about him that was contagious. I forgot about all the things I had to do. I just wanted to keep the conversation going.
“Well, I’m not getting rid of the shirt, if that’s what you’re implying.” I eyed him back, with equal suspicion.
“Maybe you have to be converted, then.”
“To Pink Floyd?”
“Yes, Ma’am. And if I’m not being too bold, I would like to offer my services for the occasion.”
I grinned. “Sure. Here’s my number.” I pulled a pen out from behind my ear, and wrote my number on the inside of his right hand. It was warm.
He grinned. “I’ll call.”
“That’s what the number’s for.”
He laughed, and with a wink, he continued past with his laundry. I hesitated, leaving slowly, hoping he would stop me, distract me a little longer, but he didn’t. He just put his basket down on a table and began to throw clothes into the machine.
And then I was out of the room, and had no choice but to continue to my room, and my wailing whining roommate, and my patiently waiting homework.
Out of all the things I needed to get done, why didn’t I have more laundry to do?
...
