Miss Crankypants owns a lot of dark clothing. No, she’s not a cat burglar–she has several cats who do that sort of thing for her. She lives in the chilly Northwest where nobody uses an umbrella but really ought to. And so Miss CP’s wardrobe is defined not in shades of gray but in fifty shades of BLEACH.
Every single black article of clothing (and even some of the gray ones) has a bleach stain on it. Around here we like to say that if Miss CP’s clothes aren’t bleached, wait ten minutes.
She doesn’t know how it happens. It’s almost like magic writing with disappearing ink, only the bleach APPEARS (hours later) like a slow-developing Polaroid snapshot. No matter how hard she tries, dear Miss Cranky ends up with lovely Rorschach blobs in compromising places. Whether she’s trying to rid the laundry of some telltale stain or scrubbing out the tub, Bleach knows where she lives. And hits her hardest when she bends over.
You might wonder why, for the love of Clorox, doesn’t she give up and buy all white clothing? Have you ever seen what your backside looks like dressed in white? Stay-puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters you say? ‘Nuff said.
From now on, though, Miss Crankypants is going to be way more intentional about her bleaching. Besides looking for new ways to brighten the towels, she’s going to start writing in bleach. Everything she writes will have this tendency to show up later, if not on the bestseller list, then maybe on an Oxi-clean commercial.
Fifty Shades of Bleach will be the biggest hit of the year–unless she forgets and leaves a red shirt in the white load, turning everything PINK. In that case, we’ll all go down to Arizona’s Maricopa County jail and try to blend in with the inmates. If you spot any of Miss CP’s criminal cats down there, be sure to let her know.