{"id":8668,"date":"2022-05-31T18:34:51","date_gmt":"2022-05-31T16:34:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/prod-2018.frictions.co\/?p=8668"},"modified":"2022-06-01T23:43:58","modified_gmt":"2022-06-01T21:43:58","slug":"je-suis-tombee-amoureuse-de-ton-linge-sale","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/prod-2018.frictions.co\/english\/love-better-s3\/i-felt-in-love-with-your-dirty-clothes\/","title":{"rendered":"I fell in love with your dirty clothes"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Stain remover. <\/p>\r\n

Scrub. <\/p>\r\n

Washing machine. <\/p>\r\n

Wait. <\/p>\r\n

Softener. <\/p>\r\n

Repeat. <\/p>\r\n

Dryer. <\/p>\r\n

Spin, spin, spin. <\/p>\r\n

Steam everywhere. <\/p>\r\n

Dry eye. <\/p>\r\n

Rub, rub, rub. <\/p>\r\n

The smell of industrial lavender. <\/p>\r\n

Sneeze. <\/p>\r\n

Both the bottle and I. <\/p>\r\n

Coat hanger. <\/p>\r\n

Set. <\/p>\r\n

Plastic. <\/p>\r\n

Pack. <\/p>\r\n

Label. <\/p>\r\n

Check.<\/p>\r\n

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Put it back on the automatic hanger that turns as each client comes in, every  second of the day, with each wine stain on a white shirt, with each lipstick trace  on a collar, with each white chalk mark on the tight black pants of that man\u2019s  suit. <\/p>\r\n

That man. <\/p>\r\n

From the evidence, I\u2019m sure he\u2019s a professor. A college professor, able to afford  a linen suit that costs no less than a grand and makes no bones about spilling  Cabernet Sauvignon on it every Tuesday \u2013 the suit with the purple, abstract  stain always comes in on Wednesdays. That probably happened at some four <\/p>\r\n

star restaurant right here in the Jardins, in the company of women whose lips  are sometimes plump, sometimes real thin; sometimes Fuck-Me-Red,  sometimes Nude-Not-Naked. I know because I have each one of those lipsticks  that show up on the most obscene spots of his chambray shirts. Not that I go  around fucking everyone. <\/p>\r\n

Not that I have that opportunity. <\/p>\r\n

Not that I have watched that man\u2019s face in order to legitimate my (\u201cintense\u201d,  according to Jinho at the dryer) investigation over two entire months of who,  how, where and why. But if I told you that someone's dirty clothes reveal more  about them than a candlelit dinner (there\u2019s always wax on his pants), would you  believe me? Not that I\u2019ve ever had dinner by candlelight. Only if you count that  time when the power went out in my aunt\u2019s pizza cone truck. <\/p>\r\n

Ale Carvalho. Cleaning these clothes with this chemical solution has shortened  my life by 15 years. Why is it that this person can't pick them up himself? It\u2019s  always that skinny girl with the lank hair who comes to pick them up and pays  this insane laundry bill that maybe gets me as much as those dudes get from  selling bottled water and suspicious candy at the traffic light on Avenida  Tiradentes on a summer day as sweaty as Ivete Sangalo\u2019s belly on the cover of  that Banda Eva CD. Remember the 90\u2019s? When beauty standards could still be  reached without the unfailing need for surgical intervention \u2013 not that I ever got  anywhere so close to being as thin as that.<\/p>\r\n

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Is that why Ale Carvalho never comes to pick his clothes up? He just assumes  that the girls who work at laundry shops will never measure up to the former  Gucci models that he\u2019s used to dating? What a dick. First, because that  company\u2019s prints are a pain in the fucking ass to clean, and second, because  former models, who retire at 25 for reaching what old men who call themselves  photographers consider old age, need to make a living somehow \u2013 especially  having dropped out of school at 14 to go live in a single room with fifteen other  starving girls. Or does he think that all of them can make a living by being in ads  for b-grade cosmetics that actually look like the pink softener that I once mixed  with the orange remover powder and drank to see if it would get me high before  starting my shift? <\/p>\r\n

No, unfortunately it did not kill me, and neither did the coronavirus. <\/p>\r\n

But it finally did kill all the reddish stains on Ale Carvalho\u2019s 100%-cotton boxers,  stains that I\u2019d been trying \u2013 and failing \u2013 to remove for months. Not that my life  goal is to wash some rich smartass\u2019s briefs, but when you have a job as boring  as mine, any challenge becomes a brightly lit Caldeir\u00e3o do Huck stage in my  mind. Do you have what it takes to remove hemorrhoids from underwear? If  humiliating poor people is that show\u2019s specialty, then I\u2019m a contestant.  Hemorrhoids are when the veins in your asshole dilate, bleed, and give you  horrible pain. It\u2019s probably caused by the stress of spending the whole day  sitting down, grading thousands of tests or preparing hundreds of class  lectures. I shouldn\u2019t even care, right? I know. Jinho at the dryer tells me so all  the time, but \u2013 hemorrhoids. That poor teacher. And his are not just any hemorrhoids. Nope, big ones, the kind that hurt so much that the stains look like  period stains. <\/p>\r\n

Too intimate? What\u2019s intimate is washing the underwear of a man I\u2019ve never  seen in my life but whom I know everything about. Does Ale Carvalho even  know the name of the person who broke the record for removing the stains left  by his delicate parts in just 30 seconds? Dolores Ribeiro. AKA laundry shop  babe #3. AKA me. Me, who knows that every pocket in his suits has a small  hole that accommodates the tip of the pen he always forgets to cap after  grading a test. That the sleeves of his shirts smell of coconut milk and saffron, <\/p>\r\n

likely because he accidentally brushed them against the plantain moqueca he  has for lunch every Monday at Diga\u00ea Bar & Bahia (not that I\u2019ve googled every  Bahian restaurant in the neighborhood, as if). A moqueca lover unconsciously  sharing his intimacy with me of all people, a runaway Bahian in S\u00e3o Paulo  pursuing a career as a blues singer \u2013 and moving up in my imaginary career as  a laundry shop detective. A girl really can\u2019t dream. <\/p>\r\n

A professor who loves wine, moqueca, and women. Probably a womanizer.  Probably ogles his students. Gesticulates nonstop, explaining who knows what  theory while moving his glass and spilling all of its contents on his Zara blazers  that I personally disagree with because of slave labor and everything \u2013 but that  damn store does hit the spot when it comes to making a man sexy. A man  whose hair is down to his shoulders, probably. Brown and curly, probably.  According to the strands I always remove from his suits\u2019 shoulders \u2013 they  actually fall out way too much for someone who\u2019s probably in his 30s. Has he  been eating right? With that much nightlife and alcohol consumption he\u2019s getting  little sleep, that\u2019s for sure. Does he take all these women to his flat? Where  does he live? I\u2019ve looked it up in his file. But the only address is from the  Brazilian University of Education. I\u2019ve never heard a more generic name. Maybe  Ale Carvalho wears expensive suits to make up for an apparent academic  failure. And he does make up for it. He gets so many women\u2026 Is lank-hair one  of his lovers? Or just an unhappy student who thought she\u2019d be getting ahead in  life when in fact she\u2019s doing chores for her professor who insists on saying  that\u2019s part of her \u201ccharacter building?\u201d The nerve of that guy! <\/p>\r\n

I ain\u2019t the kind of woman who does things for bros. Unless they pay me. On the  books, Christmas bonus and a 1-month paid leave for me to finish recording my  album that\u2019s been in the making for exactly 4 years. But it\u2019ll be a bop, I swear.  Banger after banger. I sing about a love I\u2019ve never experienced, at least not  outside my mind. But imaginary love is the love that really makes us cum \u2013  because it\u2019s not there to ruin everything after fucking you and showing up with  your cousin for a family lunch. No, the love I\u2019ve never experienced is the perfect  love. It\u2019s the paulistano love, crazy, drunk, fast, it has a time to begin, a middle  and an ending, but no expiration date to the life it lives in your mind\u2019s eternity, in <\/p>\r\n

that tiny little space specially reserved for the sparks of a summer day. That  keeps you alive on the other 364 days of the year. <\/p>\r\n

I want to cum so bad. <\/p>\r\n

It\u2019s been months. I wanna rub Ale Carvalho\u2019s shirt all over my body so bad while  my boss is too busy screaming at Jinho at the dryer. I wanna rub the sleeve that  his twisted fingers go through because he\u2019s never even fucking unbuttoned it.  Rub it on my hair, on my breasts, on my pussy. Slightly slip my fingers through it  as if they were his, and they know exactly where all the A, B, C, D, E, F, G spots  are inside of me. Kiss his collar that smells woody from the night before as well  as of the pleasant sweat of those guys who don\u2019t rush throughthru foreplay. WhoThat know  what they\u2019re doing. Who That like what they\u2019re doing. Who That say to a woman that she\u2019s  the most beautiful they\u2019ve ever \u2013 no, not beautiful, hot. The hottest he\u2019s ever  seen. Brutally honest. Ridiculously tempting. In a way that only a guy that wears  a patterned silk tie could be. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Dolores, can you help this lady here?! \u2013 Lucinha shouts while I finish  hanging the last batch of Ale Carvalho\u2019s clothes on the automatic hanger: his  typical black linen suit, three white chambray shirts, five 100%-cotton heathered  graygrey briefs, and, strangely, a brown nylon gym top that always shows up among  his stuff but that I have no idea of who it belongs to. <\/p>\r\n

I run to the computer and open the client files. <\/p>\r\n

\u2013 Good morning. Do you have your order number? <\/p>\r\n

She tells me the numbers; I type them on the computer. The system  automatically finds the order: Ale Carvalho. 1 suit, 3 shirts, 5 briefs, 1 top. I look  at the woman who\u2019s there to pick them up. Thirty-something. Sunglasses. Dark,  curly hair in a ponytail. 100%-cotton black men\u2019s shirt too big for her body type.  Vintage dark blue jeans, probably bought at a classic piece thrift shop, straight,  masculine cut. Imported leather boots, recently shined. Hip clothes for someone  who\u2019s not working on a Monday. What kind of person has a Monday off? That\u2019s  definitely not the tiny lank-haired chick that always comes for Ale Carvalho\u2019s  clothes. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Where\u2019s lank-hair?<\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Who? \u2013 Leather-boots doesn\u2019t get my completely random remark. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 The girl who always comes to pick up his clothes. <\/p>\r\n

Leather-boots stares at me, clueless. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Look, I\u2019m in a hurry. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Of course, of course. My bad. <\/p>\r\n

I take the clothes from the hanger and put them in a bag on the counter. I stare  at Leather-boots\u2019 impatient expression from behind the counter. It\u2019s now or  never. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Sorry if I\u2019m sounding totally pushy, but what\u2019s he like? <\/p>\r\n

Leather-boots looks at me again, a question mark on her face. She decides to  ignore me and picks up the clothes from the counter. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Thank you. <\/p>\r\n

But I pull the clothes back to me. I can\u2019t miss that chance. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Like, what does he say to you that you come here to pick up his clothes? Is it  the Tuesday night dinners? The woody perfume? The pseudo-intellectual way  he speaks in class? What does he teach, by the way? I\u2019d guess some Law shit,  judging by the linen suits. People don\u2019t usually care and buy those polyester  suits that get all soft and whose pants are way too long. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Girl, who\u2019s \u201che\u201d? <\/p>\r\n

But my heart is pumping too fast for me to hear her. God almighty, I\u2019m gonna  look like a complete perv and will probably lose my job right now but I need to  know. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Is it his kiss? <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Whose kiss? Who is he? <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Ale Carvalho. <\/p>\r\n

She looks at me. At the suits. At me again. And some penny I can\u2019t imagine  drops for her.<\/p>\r\n

Leather-boots bursts into an annoyingly delighted laughter. She shows those  big, white teeth framed by juicy lips with no lipstick on whatsoever, no Fuck-Me Red or Nude-Not-Naked. <\/p>\r\n

Are Ale Carvalho\u2019s lips juicy like that? Do Ale Carvalho and Leather-boots lock  into the perfect union of intrinsically coordinated mouths? That would be  especially surprising, since she does not look like a cute-girly-former-Gucci model. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 It sure is that \u2014 she says, mockingly. <\/p>\r\n

I immediately blush. She laughs again. I don\u2019t know at what. If I was expecting  clarification of my sudden public humiliation, I\u2019d certainly failed at that. Now I\u2019ve  been promoted from laundry shop detective to laundry shop perv. A girl  definitely shouldn\u2019t dream. <\/p>\r\n

The machine automatically prints out the receipt. But I don\u2019t move. Jesus\u2026 that  was humiliating. Leather-boots notices I\u2019m not retrieving the receipt anytime  soon \u2013 that right now I\u2019m paralyzed by my own torturous thoughts. <\/p>\r\n

She takes out a pen from her shirt pocket. An uncapped pen, whose tip fits  perfectly through a tiny hole in the pocket. She signs the receipt with that damn  smile on that face drawn by some Renaissance artist. A chin so symmetrical with  her high cheekbones and smooth forehead. Who does she think she is? <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Look, just to make things clear. I\u2019m not going after him or anything. \u2014 She  watches me, clearly having fun. \u2014 You have to understand that my job is  extremely tedious, except when Jinho gets a piece of satin clothing stuck in the  dryer fan or when I manage to remove a stain from a piece of underwear in  under 30 seconds. So, like, don\u2019t worry. Ale Carvalho only exists and will only  exist in my imagination. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Constitutional Law, but you got pretty close \u2014 she says, almost impressed. When is she going to stop thinking I\u2019m a total idiot? <\/p>\r\n

Leather-boots checks the clothes in the bag. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Thanks for the briefs. Flow is heavy sometimes.<\/p>\r\n

Flow? What flow? The flow from seasonal hemorrhoids that burst religiously  once a month? <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 As for the shirts. Perfect. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Cabernet Sauvignon is a good choice, but tell him he has to be careful if he\u2019s  gonna blah-blah with a glass in his hand. Or maybe don\u2019t. Otherwise, I\u2019m out of  work. <\/p>\r\n

She laughs, looking curiously at me. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 You\u2019re very good at this. Soon you\u2019ll be guessing my credit status just from  the brands. <\/p>\r\n

What does she have to do with Ale Carvalho\u2019s clothing brands? She realizes I didn\u2019t get it and takes her card from her pocket. \u2014 How much? <\/p>\r\n

I wake up from my daze. I look at the screen. I tell her how much. She hands  me a credit card \u2013 it has Ale Carvalho\u2019s name on it. <\/p>\r\n

Wow. They\u2019re intimate. <\/p>\r\n

I try to seem casual. But I end up sounding like a stalker anyway. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 How long have you been together? <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Uh, 31 years, I guess. Thirty if you take out the time spent in my mom\u2019s belly. She\u2019s ironic. I\u2019m totally embarrassed. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 Oh, God. Ale Carvalho is your dad? I\u2019m sorry. <\/p>\r\n

She bursts into laughter again, with that smile so beautiful you can\u2019t help but  hate it. I was never one to take notice of a woman\u2019s smile, unless to compare it  to mine. What\u2019s happening to me? And what am I saying that\u2019s so funny as to  render me like some kind of breakthrough natural-born comedian rescued from  this scuzzy job? <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 You\u2019re cute.<\/p>\r\n

Consciously, I know I should have gotten very annoyed at this patronizing  comment. But my body decided to act of its own will and I got chills all over.  Even down to the nonexistent hairs behind my knees. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 I\u2019ll come pick up my clothes here more often, for sure. <\/p>\r\n

\u201cMy clothes\u201d? <\/p>\r\n

And then \u2013 the penny drops for me. <\/p>\r\n

Constitutional Law professor. <\/p>\r\n

Menstrual flow. <\/p>\r\n

My credit status. <\/p>\r\n

Leather-boots watches as my face reacts to all these feelings tumbling as if I  were watching a bad TV show \u2013 lame and predictable, but you just can\u2019t stop  watching. <\/p>\r\n

She laughs one last time and turns to leave. <\/p>\r\n

\u2014 See you next Monday, Dolores. <\/p>\r\n

And that\u2019s how I watched Ale Carvalho walk out of the Raio de Sol laundry  shop. <\/p>\r\n

Knowing my name. <\/p>\r\n

Thinking I\u2019m cute. <\/p>\r\n

Saying she\u2019d come back. <\/p>\r\n

Never in my life have I wanted so bad to see how a woman would look in a  man\u2019s suit. <\/p>\r\n

Fuck-Me-Red and Nude-Not-Naked girls, I completely get you on that summer day sparkle. I am you. <\/p>\r\n

And we are pathetically in love. <\/p>\r\n

I don\u2019t know when my legs decided to take control of my body even though my  brain screamed at me to stick my head in one of those plastic bags and die by  suffocation under the counter.<\/p>\r\n

I don\u2019t know when they started running towards Ale Carvalho, who by now was  turning the corner, carrying her clothes, heading for Diga\u00ea Bar & Bahia located  exactly 100 yards from the laundry shop. <\/p>\r\n

And how could Ale Carvalho eat a plantain moqueca with her just-washed  clothes on her shoulder if she was incapable of savoring the impeccable Bahian  cuisine without getting completely dirty? I had to save her from herself, and my  legs knew that. <\/p>\r\n

Or they needed to make up any excuse in order for me to feel less of an idiot. Even though I had never run after a woman in my life. <\/p>\r\n

Even though I had never wanted to know everything about a woman in my life. Even though I had never wanted a woman\u2019s juicy lips on mine so bad in my life. <\/p>\r\n

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Don't miss the next stories ...!<\/p><\/div><\/div>

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