Dear you,
I understand that you sympathize with my struggle to find a dryer that works, but your intent study of my laundry is honestly kind of disturbing. I could have lived without you discovering that I own a bright green sports bra (which now that you know, hey, why not tell the world!) or what kind of underwear I wear. There is a reason I try to get my stuff into the dryer as fast as possible and its because all my bras wind up piled on top of the washer so I can take them upstairs and hang them up, and you staring at them was kind of a turn off.
Also, what's with that weirdly smug tone of voice you have? At first I thought you were gay, but now I'm thinking it's less that and more that you're just kind of creepy.
No love, me.
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