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Sunday evening I took a load of clean laundry out of the dryer and dumped it into the overstuffed chair we have in our living room; As is his wont, Louis The Cat immediately leapt onto the pile of warm clothes, burrowed into the shirts and socks, and promptly fell asleep. I had intended to fold the clothes shortly thereafter but was overcome with slackerliness, so Lucky Lou remained ensconced in the laundry all night long. In the morning, though, as I rushed around the house slightly late for work, I extracted Louie from the laundry, shooed him off, grabbed my gym clothes from the pile and shoved them into my duffle bag.
Several hours later I was in my gym's locker room and naked as a jaybird, having just stripped down in preparation for a shower. The Unwritten Rules Of Locker Room Etiquette For Guys dictate that, once you are naked, you have to be All Business: no talking, no eye contact, no calling attention to yourself, etc. So I solemnly shoved my clothes into my locker and pulled the towel out of my bag.
As I did so, though, something flew across the room, ricocheted off the mirror, and skidded to a stop on the tile floor. Everyone looked to see what it was. Not knowing myself what I had just flung from my bag, I trotted over to retrieve it, and was aghast to find this laying before me.