for a washer and dryer. Like seriously, my definition of 'happily-ever-after' is a top of the line washer and dryer inside my apartment. Forget the husband, baby and white picket fence (watching all the bad ass kids cut up in the supermarkets cured me of all that)... I'm talking, can't sleep at four in the morning? Go ahead and throw that single pair of jeans in the machine so that even if I'm grumpy, I'll still look sexy.I HATE the laundry room in the basement of my building. Although I only wash the floor mats and dog towels, it's still too much time out of my life lost in that dank, stinky rat hole. Every time I'm down there, I start creating all these horror story scenarios in my head about getting slashed, killed, and beheaded by some recently released psychopath. I can see it now-the trifling super will find my head spinning in the industrial size dryer when he finally shows up to lock the room at 9.30p. Yes, I have an active imagination dammit. But if it goes down, don't say I never told you.
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