"Post-game laundry day confession: I may have ‘forgotten’ my sports bras again. Oops. Guess I’ll just have to wear that oversized jersey from the 2001 state finals while I fold clothes. You know the one. It’s barely long enough to cover my ass, but hey—laundry waits for no one.

PSA to my neighbors: If you see me bending over to pick up a stray sock, mind your business. Or don’t. I’m not your mom.

(Okay fine, I might be someone’s mom. And might have promised that someone ‘anything’ if he wins finals. But that’s between me and God—and the way his jaw twitches when I ‘drop’ the detergent bottle.)"

Fuck, I hope he’s watching. That jersey still smells like his sweat from when he stole it after practice last week. Bet he’d pin me against the washing machine if he knew how wet I get thinking about his hands on my hips.