miyako73
07-18-2012, 02:04 PM
What an expensive surprise!
Just after Monday lunch, I went to a laundromat, three blocks from my apartment, to have a white stain on my black Prada skirt steamed off and dry-cleaned. I did not touch it myself. I was scared of fabric discoloration like what happened before to my Junya Watanabe dress. I messed it up when I tried to get rid of a tiny brown stain from a packet of Heinz ketchup. I ended up selling it very cheap on e-bay.
My hands are not really good with any stain. It's my fashion curse. Yes, I am a label whore. I spend more money on clothes than on food. I am on a diet. I also spend a lot on dry-cleaning. Expensive clothes are not made to be washed. They will lose their glow, color, and texture if you put them in a washing machine. I think this is an intentional conspiracy among high-end designers. They don't make machine-washable clothes, so fashionistas keep on upgrading their wardrobes when dry-cleaning seems pricey and going to a dry-cleaner is too much a chore.
"I no see you long time, Isabel." Mrs. Lee, the laundromat owner who knows me by name, has been dry-cleaning my clothes for two years now. She was very chatty; a line of waiting clients put her in the mood. After a brief greeting, I showed her the stain. She teasingly giggled, and I knew what she was thinking.
"Party party last night?" she asked.
"I stay home on Sunday nights, Mrs. Lee," I answered.
Yes, she thought it was a stain from a man, his uncontrollable drip. Definitely, it was not his urine. I wore the skirt a month ago to a trendy club here called Moda, where I met a hot Greek guy. He could be either a model or a gigolo. He was my one-night stand. We just kissed in his parked car while I played his thing-definitely not a thingy. The guy was an easy shooter.
I thought I avoided his sticky shots pretty well. I made it sure he would shoot on his tummy. He had hard abs. I even watched him wipe his groin and his thing with Starbucks gray napkins. I had no idea where the stain on my skirt came from. As far as I knew, I did not squirt. My thong that night was not even wet. My surgically-made vagina got excited, but I did not orgasm. The stain on my Prada skirt had been a mystery for a while until I checked the white Balenciaga corset I wore that same night. I found the culprit: my breasts.
Due to my lustful excitement, I lactated. My doctor assured me during my last visit that it was because of Depo-provera, a progesterone hormone shot. I thought, at first, my silicone implants leaked. I was scared, although I knew silicone should have neither color nor taste. My breast milk was salty and milky white. I squeezed a drop and tasted it. It had the aftertaste of my mom's creme brulee. I wondered if a squirt would match a cup of Colombian coffee.
I did not bother to explain everything to Mrs. Lee. Her English not good, she might misunderstood me and charge me more. I just smiled like I confirmed what she thought. She gave me a discount, but still expensive. I paid her; it was thirty bucks.
"Thank you, Mrs. Lee." Embarrassed, I left hoping she did not think I was a sloppy slut.
Just after Monday lunch, I went to a laundromat, three blocks from my apartment, to have a white stain on my black Prada skirt steamed off and dry-cleaned. I did not touch it myself. I was scared of fabric discoloration like what happened before to my Junya Watanabe dress. I messed it up when I tried to get rid of a tiny brown stain from a packet of Heinz ketchup. I ended up selling it very cheap on e-bay.
My hands are not really good with any stain. It's my fashion curse. Yes, I am a label whore. I spend more money on clothes than on food. I am on a diet. I also spend a lot on dry-cleaning. Expensive clothes are not made to be washed. They will lose their glow, color, and texture if you put them in a washing machine. I think this is an intentional conspiracy among high-end designers. They don't make machine-washable clothes, so fashionistas keep on upgrading their wardrobes when dry-cleaning seems pricey and going to a dry-cleaner is too much a chore.
"I no see you long time, Isabel." Mrs. Lee, the laundromat owner who knows me by name, has been dry-cleaning my clothes for two years now. She was very chatty; a line of waiting clients put her in the mood. After a brief greeting, I showed her the stain. She teasingly giggled, and I knew what she was thinking.
"Party party last night?" she asked.
"I stay home on Sunday nights, Mrs. Lee," I answered.
Yes, she thought it was a stain from a man, his uncontrollable drip. Definitely, it was not his urine. I wore the skirt a month ago to a trendy club here called Moda, where I met a hot Greek guy. He could be either a model or a gigolo. He was my one-night stand. We just kissed in his parked car while I played his thing-definitely not a thingy. The guy was an easy shooter.
I thought I avoided his sticky shots pretty well. I made it sure he would shoot on his tummy. He had hard abs. I even watched him wipe his groin and his thing with Starbucks gray napkins. I had no idea where the stain on my skirt came from. As far as I knew, I did not squirt. My thong that night was not even wet. My surgically-made vagina got excited, but I did not orgasm. The stain on my Prada skirt had been a mystery for a while until I checked the white Balenciaga corset I wore that same night. I found the culprit: my breasts.
Due to my lustful excitement, I lactated. My doctor assured me during my last visit that it was because of Depo-provera, a progesterone hormone shot. I thought, at first, my silicone implants leaked. I was scared, although I knew silicone should have neither color nor taste. My breast milk was salty and milky white. I squeezed a drop and tasted it. It had the aftertaste of my mom's creme brulee. I wondered if a squirt would match a cup of Colombian coffee.
I did not bother to explain everything to Mrs. Lee. Her English not good, she might misunderstood me and charge me more. I just smiled like I confirmed what she thought. She gave me a discount, but still expensive. I paid her; it was thirty bucks.
"Thank you, Mrs. Lee." Embarrassed, I left hoping she did not think I was a sloppy slut.