Keyed

Mad.
That's what I was when I pulled my laundry out of the drier Tuesday. Not immediately. In fact. I quite enjoy pulling laundry out of the drier. That freshly dried laundry smell? Not much beats it, you know?

But the brief happiness encountered when opening the drier door was not enough to shroud my annoyance when I saw my gray camisole.

The poor thing was helplessly entangled in the confines of my favorite comfy t-shirt. Twisted were those previously perfect cotton straps. I realized immediately the damage would be irreparable.

Look at those straps! Do you see how the one on the right is grossly out of proportion? I do.

Originally I was merely mad at myself for not having the foresight to hang dry the strappy portions of my wardrobe.

But then I started untwisting...
And soon found a happy little scapegoat for my laundry woes...

How could this happen?? I immediately checked my keys, since the most logical explanation would be that at some point my own room key was dropped among the clothes.

But I had my key. All of them, in fact. So the question was, who did not have all of their keys?

Aha! The culprit. 809. My floor. Shimer students even. Figures. Read all the great books you want, but it won't do a thing to prevent losing keys in driers.