“god, can you imagine getting married at nineteen?" miranda asked. "when i was nineteen i didnt even know how to do my own laundry." she added, for david's beneit, "you know, laundry? washing your own clothes? there are people who do that."he rolled his eyes. "i know how to do laundry. i watched my wife do it dozens of times.”

“There isn't a button," she said. "You choose your setting and then you pull the dial." He glanced at her as she folded a shirt, annoyed by her nonchalance at doing laundry. "What exactly is my setting? It looks to me like the setting is the goddamn laundry room and the plot is I don't know how to fucking turn this thing on.”

“I followed him down the hall and into his room. He closed the door and tossed my dirty clothes into his hamper. “Don’t do that! I’ll take them home and wash them,” I tried to grab for them but Caeden grabbed my hands instead. “It’s fine,” he kissed the side of my mouth while I squirmed in his grasp.“Caeden, your mom doesn’t need to clean my dirty clothes.”“It’s not a problem. Besides,” he said huskily in my ear, “my mom doesn’t do my laundry. I do my own, just like a big boy.”I laughed. “And you know what else?” his lips brushed my ear. “What?”“I even make my own bed.”

“apparel, n.: There are times I don’t mind doing the laundry, because folding your clothes reminds me of the shape of you.”

“In nineteen minutes, you can mow the front lawn; color your hair; watch a third of a hockey game. In nineteen minutes, you can bake scones or get a tooth filled by a dentist; you can fold laundry for a family of five.In nineteen minutes, you can stop the world; or you can just jump off it.”

“He could wait while I threw some laundry in. That's right ladies. I do laundry.”