I was just doing a whole bucket full of laundry in the basement and had a memory return.
It was the first time I went to Brooklyn to visit Asher after we met. I was there for five days, I think, and one of the days, I think it was Sunday, he had to do laundry. He had asked me, "I'm going to do laundry, do you want to go with me?" I said, "Do you want me to go with you?" He got mad at me for this and was like, "Yo! I just asked you. Either you do or you don't, simple question." We were getting used to each other and the me who was sassy and full of attitude was crushing under this new thing I felt for him. So finally I said, "Okay". I remember the walk to the laundromat and exactly what I was wearing (DKNY jeans and a purple t-shirt) and we walked out on his front stoop and he introduced me to a friend who gave him a fist pound.
So I went with him and decided I would throw in some clothes in with his wash. He refused, refused to wash my panties with his clothes. He said it wasn't right but I could throw my shirts in with his. I said it wasn't right to pay $75 more cents to wash three pairs of panties alone, that he was being ridiculous. He claimed his mother didn't raise him that way. I laid down the law and said, "I'm sorry but you will have to deal with it" and threw my panties in with his load. We watched them mix in and turn in circles over and over again. And that was that. Apparently when we willed my opinionated self to come back, it came back fierce.
Edit****I just realized it was this very same Labor Day weekend, exactly two years later. I am happy to report our unmentionables are cohabitating nicely in the washing machine right now.