Oh, Saturday night, time to do my wash again… For the first time in over five years, I had to haul my clothes to the neighbourhood laundrette. (Unfortunately, there was no young, punkish Daniel Day Lewis hanging outside.) I felt like a complete tool; stuffed about a month’s worth of dirty laundry into a duffel bag, and shuffled my way down the few blocks to the laundromat. Once there, I searched all over for the change machine, which I couldn’t find. Head next door to the Métro, buy some groceries and get a roll of quarters. Head back to the laundrette, and finally see the change machine as I walk in the door. Cram by clothes into the machines, and plop my coinage into the slots. Couldn’t figure out why there were only three slots for the $1.50 machine and, being somewhat pathetic, I had to ask a women what to do. Felt like such a parody of the newly single man who can’t even wash his own clothes.
Went home and made crêpes.