Disclaimer: All characters trademark and copyright Rumiko Takahashi and AIC.
Laundry Day
by
Dark Pikachu
For the record, my name is Akane Tendo. I'm nineteen, in college, and about to die of embarrassment.
See, today is laundry day. It's the day in which I take all my dirty clothes and wash them, and usually I wear the last clean clothes in my closet and dresser, usually a ratty t-shirt and faded jeans or something. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, but the communal washer and dryer in my dorm is on the fritz so I'm forced to take all my filthy shirts, jeans, blouses, skirts, and gis to the nearest public laundromat.
It's not a bad laundromat, per se. It's not in a bad part of town and it's not all run-down and dilapidated or anything. It's just a regular old laundromat with your usual assortment of washers, dryers, and extra large washers and dryers.
I'd take my clothes here more often, as the machines are actually cheaper than the machine in my dorm, but usually I do my laundry on Saturday nights, and I'd rather not have any of my friends and classmates know that I, Akane Tendo, once "the most desired girl in Nerima," spends her Saturday nights sitting in her ratty t-shirt and pajama pants doing laundry. I'd rather have my friends think that I spend my Saturday nights on hot dates with the most eligible bachelors in school. That I didn't completely alienate myself from my family and my high school friends by my refusal to marry the guy my dad tried to set me up with (lecherous idiot that he was), and that I spent so much time in high school focusing on martial arts that I am now completely clueless about what's popular with kids my own age. (You mean Megumi Hayashibara ISN'T the top musical act right now? Who the hell is this Aya Hirano person?).
No, laundry day itself isn't so bad. I'm perfectly content to be sitting here at 9:00 on a Saturday night, sitting in my ratty t-shirt and faded pajama pants, reading a sappy romance manga as I wait for a load of whites to finish the spin cycle. What is bad is the fact that the guy I've had a crush on for the last six weeks just walked in with a load of clothes, and I'm sitting here in my ratty t-shirt and faded pajama pants, reading a sappy romance manga as I wait for a load of whites to finish the spin cycle.
He's a pretty cute guy. Tall, lanky, black spiky hair, and eyes I could easily lose myself in. His name's Tenchi something-or-other and I think he's a design major (not that I've ever actually worked up the never to ask him, let alone talk to him about anything other than a cheery 'Hi!' in the hallways at school). We're in the same algebra class, and lately I've found myself staring at him more and more while our professor drones on and on about denominators and how x is the equal of y in like-minded equations.
Occasionally, I've let myself fantasize about having a romantic interlude with him. About being wined and dined and seduced, Tenchi in a tuxedo, while I'm wearing the latest designer dress from Paris.
But none of my fantasies have included me wearing ratty clothes, my hair up in a sloppy ponytail, and no make-up. No girl fantasizes about being seduced while looking like a homeless person. So what I'm going to do right now is raise my romance manga up to cover my face and pray that Tenchi doesn't notice-
"Kyoto Martial Arts Expo 2006."
"Excuse me," I squeak, broken from my reverie. He's standing over me, regarding me with a quizzical look on his face.
"Your t-shirt," he points out, "it's from the 2006 martial arts convention in Kyoto."
I look down at my badly faded shirt, a picture of Sonny Chiba (the expo's guest of honor) breaking a board in the middle with kanji on top advertising the 2006 Martial Arts Expo at the Kyoto Public Gymnasium.
"Yeah," I say, trying not to blush, "I went with my family. I was in the freestyle competition."
"Oh, you do martial arts?" His tone tells me he's genuinely interested, not being condescending or merely trying to chat me up.
"Yeah. My family practices a style called Anything Goes. I got third place, which I think was pretty good given the competition I faced." (Not that Ranma congratulated me or anything. Hell, he didn't even qualify, getting kicked out after provoking a fight with Ryoga. Not that I'm still bitter about him embarrassing me yet again or anything.)
He smiles at me. "That's great. Congratulations."
"Thank you," I reply. The tournament was almost two years ago now, but I still smile with pride at a cute guy actually complimenting me for a change instead of calling me an uncute tomboy.
"Do you do martial arts?" I ask.
He scratches the back of his head. "I used to practice kendo when I was younger, but I've sort of fallen out of practice since I started college. I was going to go to the Kyoto show with my grandfather, but some...uh...things got in the way at home and I had to miss it."
"It was a really great martial arts show. I had a lot of fun there."
"Well, that's great." He looks around, as unsure of what to say as I am. Finally he turns and starts to unload his hamper and for the first time I notice that his own clothes are pretty ratty looking. His jeans have splotches of paint on them and a few holes in the knees, and his own shirt has seen better days. The fact that the guy I've been thinking about for the last few weeks is here on a Saturday night, doing his own laundry, tells me that maybe I'm not as out of my league as I thought I was.
"Well, um" he's sheepish, not sure what to say now, "I'll let you get back to your manga. That's actually one of CLAMP's better titles."
"You read CLAMP manga?" I ask amusedly.
He looks horrified as he realizes what he's just said. "Oh, no, no. Of course not. Um, actually my dad does."
"Really?" I'm smiling now, trying very hard not to laugh.
He looks away, embarrassed now. "Yeah, my dad is kind of a pervert." I was teasing him, but he seems genuinely upset. I hear him mutter under his breath something about never being able to say the right thing.
"Well look," he says, "I didn't mean to bother you or anything. I'll let you get back to your manga. I've got a bunch of clothes to wash here anyways. Maybe I'll see you in class on Monday."
He starts to turn away back towards his hamper when I surprise the both of us by placing my hand on his.
"Hey," I hear myself saying. "I've read this manga before. There's a diner across the street. Maybe after you start your load we could go across and get a cup of coffee or something."
This isn't me. The girl who stammered and blushed whenever she'd see Dr. Tofu, who spent two years melting to butter anytime her jerk of a fiancée would show even the slightest hint of affection towards her. No, this isn't me at all.
Tenchi looks equally shocked, blushing as he looks me in the eyes. From the burning in my cheeks, I can tell I'm just as red as he is.
He gulps before finally responding. "I'd...I'd like that. Let me just get this load in."
"Cool," I say, smiling. And suddenly this isn't such a bad laundry day after all and I'm not as embarrassed by what I'm wearing. In fact, maybe I'll wear ratty t-shirts and pajama pants in public more often, who knows what other good things will happen?
END