Chapter Thirty Nine: A Household Conspiracy
Disclaimer: I do not own Eyeshield 21.
Songs Playing: Three Days Grace on shuffle
Theme 35: Mate
She had done her fair of laundry in her relatively short span of life. In fact, she had arguably done more than her fair share of dirty laundry. Between her own, the ever expanding American football team, and a several other choice incidences she had probably done her fair share of laundry several lifetimes over. That's months- years even of sorting, soaking, bleaching, washing, drying, ironing, re-sorting and folding experience tucked under her belt.
That being said she had never, a word she didn't use lightly, had this happen to her.
Sure she had shrunken her favorite shirt before. Yes, she would admit to accidently turning a load of whites to pale pinks. There was even an unfortunate incident involving her undergarments being put on the normal setting instead of delicate. Those were all common rookie mistakes. Done in her early laundress career and never done twice.
But this? This was just ridiculous. It really was the only word to accurately describe what was happening with her weekly load of laundry.
Her system of washing her clothes hadn't changed since middle school. She had applied the same stead fast process through high school into college and after graduation. It had never failed her before. So why, she had to ask herself, in the name of all that was holy and right and the good karma that was supposed to be heading her way did she end up with a solitary sock when she emptied the dryer? It wasn't just one time either. She could shrug off a missing sock as a weird phenomenon of nature that occurred every so often. She could even handle it if it happened every once in a while. Sure it would perplex and frustrate her but they were just socks. However to lose a sock every single time she did laundry was completely unacceptable. It was also driving her crazy.
There was no pattern to it either. Sometimes it was the left sock. Other times it was the right. It was from a new pair. Then it was from an old pair. It was his. Next it would be hers. Athletic. Dress. Pattern. Plain. Ankle. Shin. Knee length. Whatever was causing her weekly sock to disappear was indiscriminate.
So, really, why would this week be any different? It had been the same thing every Saturday since they had moved into the apartment complex they shared together.
After breakfast she would spend a solid half hour taking inventory of everything in the kitchen. As she wrote her list out he'd make out his own list of people to harass for the week. Then they would walk to the grocery store, pay, and walk home. She'd put away the food and he'd grab the basket of dirty laundry to put in the living room. Then gather his laptop or phone(s) or some folders while she picked up the basket upon which they'd head down several flights of stairs to where the buildings laundry room resided.
She'd start the laundry process while he did work. She'd head back upstairs to start some general tiding up while he did work. She'd head back downstairs to move the clothes from the washer to the dryer-always making sure that no sock went in unmatched- while he worked. She'd head back upstairs to start on lunch, make the weekly agenda, call Suzuna to chat, then head downstairs to take the clothes out of the dryer all while he worked.
Then came the crucial point where she'd start the folding. First the pants. Second the shirts. Third hangables. Fourth undergarments. Last socks.
Which brought Mamori to her current situation.
As she stuck her head and shoulders into the dryer, something she found herself doing on a regular basis nowadays, she couldn't help but feel that maybe the buildings' machine was just an evil sock eating contraption that got its thrills from making her dig for an article of clothing she was never going to find. Logically she knew that if the sock was missing it was going to stay missing. Past experience had show her that and that was all there is to it.
Except there was this illogical, highly aggravated, stubborn part of her that helped her go head to head with her husband on a daily basis that wouldn't go down without a fight. Which is why she found herself half inside the communal dryer cursing a sock she had no hope in recovering.
However it was precisely because she was head first in the dryer that she would miss the way that Youichi would choose that moment to take a break from whatever he had chosen to occupy himself with that time. Completely oblivious to the almost predatory and wholly satisfactory toothy upturn of the corners of his mouth. Unaware of his eyes that were very much fixated on, what he considered, a very nice part of her anatomy which was currently stuck up in the air- wiggling with her futile efforts. Sixteen missing socks and counting, Hiruma Mamori was still clueless to the fact that her devious husband had one slightly damp sock innocently residing in his pocket.