For fuck’s sake.
After I got home from class today, I spent like four hours being basically a housewife (making [my] dinner, folding the laundry that was in the dryer [not mine, by the way, it was towels and sheets and about an outfit each of Mom’s and Dad’s], doing my own laundry plus the shit that was in there from beforehand [Dad’s clothes from the poker game last night], cleaning the kitchen [both before and after the dinner-making], taking out the garbage, taking out the recycling, paying the dog walker [I swear to god, next time I find money lying around the house, I’m just gonna take it], delivering the wrongly-delivered mail to the appropriate downstairs apartment)…
This evening, Dad gets home from work and there’s the usual dithering around the house, he’s talking to Mom and lounging around while I’m in the kitchen waiting for my cookie to cool and also for it to be time to walk the dog, and then we walk the dog, and then I go eat my cookie (yum), and we’re all settled in for the evening…
Alice is chillin’ in the hall looking her usual baffled self, so I guide her into the parents’ room to settle, which she does, because I am awesome, and Dad asks me if I put his shirt (from poker) in the dryer. Now, the answer is “yes,” and I remember this distinctly because when I took it out of the washing machine where it had been thrown, so it’s only logical that I would’ve washed it when I did my laundry, I checked the washing instructions on the tag, and it clearly said machine wash, tumble dry low, which is what basically all washing machine- and dryer-safe clothing says, so I put it in the dryer to dry.
Now, what I said was “I don’t remember.” In fact, what I said was “I know there was definitely a piece of clothing that was dried on a hanger, but I can’t remember if it was yours or one of mine.” That is a lie. My clothing was all gym fare and pajamas, none of which have special washing or drying instructions. None of the clothes were dried on hangers because none of them needed to be.
Okay, okay. I may be able to let that one slide. I got away with the lie, after all, and I know the shirt is dryer-safe, so no harm, no foul.
What did not happen, however, was anyone (Mom included) saying anything to me that sounded even remotely like, oh, I don’t know, “Thanks for doing the laundry.”
You’re welcome, guys. You are welcome.
Also I just blacklisted some dude on tumblr for posting some shit about Perfect Blue having a lazy ending and episode 5 of Paranoia Agent making no sense. Yo, I ain’t got time for this anti-Satoshi Kon bullshit, you fucktard.