The washing machine is like a nightclub for clothes. It’s dark, bubbles happening, they’re all kind of dancing around in there. Shirt grabs the underwear, “Come on, babe, let’s go.” You come by, open the lid, they all freeze. “Would you close the door, please? This is actually a private club… We have a dress code. It’s ‘Clothes Only.’ Nothing is allowed to be on anyone.” Sometimes I take the clothes out, they’re all twisted together. I don’t even want to know what happened.
