Do You Fluff(er) and Fold?

The local laundromat is a bizarre social experiment in which one does, really, air his or her dirty laundry. It's kinda gross. I mean, it's your skivvies, your smelly socks, your suspiciously-stained sheets. It also opens you up to all sorts of silent scrutiny and eventual condemnation. When was the last time you bought underwear, and was it during the current tax year? Are you still using the sheets that mom bought for you...freshman year...of high school? And, for chrissakes, what's with all the A&F ironically-captioned t-shirts?
Women who don't go to the trouble to carefully handwash their lingerie in the bathroom sink (that would be me) have to endure particularly intense examination, usually by dudes who haven't seen bras and panties outside of a pilfered Vickie's Secret catalog. And you know what's going through their minds. Well, actually, I don't, and no, I don't want to know. But I'm sure every time I toss in a thong or try to surreptitiously pre-treat my red lace boyshorts, the silent auction of my sexual promiscuity and/or prowess and/or conquests begins. Hell, I do it too. Boxers or briefs? Boxer briefs? Mmm, CK Hip Briefs? Eww, they're not white, they're....gray.

I have never been picked up in a laundromat, so perhaps my current crop of undergarments doesn't pass muster. Too bad. Because I was really, really curious what it would be like to do it on top of the $3.50/load, TurboWash LZ800...

(**Yes, that is Sean Hayes, in that Doritos laundromat ad. Pre-Will & Grace, obviously.**)