if you're vaguely attracted to rooftops...

I hate doing laundry at my apartment. In college, there were a small enough percentage of us doing laundry in our dorm that we could generally guess at whose laundry we were callously shoveling out of the occupied drier of our choice, and either feel bad about it, possibly leave a sufficiently apologetic note, or chuckle as we sprinkled their neon sex thongs on the floor. Or we could alleviate the stress of literally airing our dirty laundry by doing laundry as a group, jamming up the available appliances while hoisting ourselves onto the driers and splitting six-packs. We also shared minimally similar ideas about what passed as acceptable underwear, and even if our underwear didn’t fit in, we accepted a strong enough social hierarchy to realize that this was some sort of failing on our part, and not on the part of others who owned things like clean undergarments, exercise clothes, and things in size small. In my new grown up apartment, it’s not like that. I feel uncomfortable putting my unmentionables in a place where they remain vulnerable to be seen by people whose general cleanliness habits remain a mystery to me. Not only do I want to keep these people as far away from any kind of situation in which they might feel prompted to touch my underwear, I’d also really like to prevent them from thinking about whether or not I wear it at all. I want the whole thing to just stay off their radar, much in the way that I have no need for my grandparents to understand what exactly a NuvaRing does.