Last night I was called into work for about three hours, because someone went home sick and they needed someone to help out. While I was getting dressed and ready for work, Initials was lounging on my bed, watching a Simpsons rerun and pigging out.
As I bent down to give him a quick peck goodbye, he leaned up, spilling his Fanta on my bedsheets, and before he got a chance to grab it, it rolled down a fold in the bedspread and soaked the bulk of my bed.
I was running late, so I asked him to do a quick load of laundry: I left him the key to the laundry room, showed him where I keep a roll of quarters (turns out, it was not in my pocket nor was I happy to see him at the moment), and asked him to throw a few more things into the load: my towels and my jeans, which had not been washed for a while.
He agreed to do it, and I went to work. When I got back, the bed was made, the towels were dry and hanging on the rack, and my jeans were folded nicely and put on the little shelf thing where I keep them, and I was pleased. I didn't really have a need to put on any of the jeans that night, and so we went to bed. Wink wink.
So I woke up this morning when Initials did, and sent him off to work while I lounged in bed and half watched "Finding Nemo" while trying to go back to sleep. When I did finally wake up and get dressed, I got pissed.
All of my jeans had shrunk, to the point where I only have one pair that fits, and even then they're so tight I can barely fit my wallet in the pocket. They're not so tight that someone could tell that I was circumsized, but they are tight enough to distinguish the bulge between my pubes and my junk. They are super-faggy jeans, and they're all I have until payday on the 31st.
I'm super not pleased.
I probably will end up speaking to Initials, don't worry. That is, if I'm able to guilt him into paying for the Simpsons Movie tickets tonight.
