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About midway through our vacation in Rhode Island (and I swear this is the very last vacation post unless the Rhode Island visitors bureau starts sponsoring me), I realized that I needed to do some laundry.

So my sister and I headed to the local laundromat with two suitcases stuffed with clothes and towels.  It kind of looked like we were fleeing the country but I absolutely promised Rick that I would come back and finish raising our children. Or at the very least, send back a seasoned, super hot au pair.

Quinn and I put all the clothes in the washing machines and then did what everyone does when they are just hanging out at some run down, ghetto laundromat…

We took glamour shots!

My expression is supposed to ooze “sexy surprise” but instead it looks more like “I think someone is stealing my towels.”

After we Annie Leibovitzed ourselves out, we headed to the dollar store nearby.  We puttered around there for awhile and bought a few things that were not a dollar.  In fact, they really should call these stores… Any Price That Sounds Good To Us.

Upon checkout, we overheard the cashier say to another employee, “There is a situation in intimates. Can you go check it out?”

Okay, who the hell knew a dollar store had an intimates section?

Now most people would have just shrugged their shoulders and wandered out but we still had 25 minutes on our wash cycle. And we were intrigued. We couldn’t just leave.  We decided to investigate this situation.

I’m serious. That’s what we did. Of course, we didn’t go straight there. We went via the fake flowers aisle to cover our tracks. No one ever expects you to go from fake flowers to intimates. No one. And then like a couple of girly Encyclopedia Browns, we surveyed the dramatic scene….

And what did we find?!

Pretty much just a bunch of cheap bras and underwear.

This was no great caper. To buffer our staggering disappointment, we realized we needed a cappuccino at once. We headed to an Italian market in the same shopping complex where a man who worked there had the gall to refuse to make us a cappuccino.

According to his story, he was out of 1% milk and whole milk doesn’t froth well.

Which was weird. Because having traveled extensively around Italy, I’m pretty sure in cities like Florence, they make most of their cappuccinos from whole milk. But apparently in Westerly, Rhode Island, whole milk doesn’t cut it.

I’m sure super clever girls would have purchased a cappuccino machine at the dollar store and frothed their own milk but Quinn and I just went back to the laundromat to finish the wash.

And you know what I realized?

That I had more fun with my sister at a dumb laundromat and dollar store than I have most days. Which makes my heart ache even more that she lives oh so far away in Memphis.

That city is so lucky.

I love this photo of my sister even though it looks like there is a lot of sand or maybe it’s just a ray of sunshine on one of her boobs. But in my experience, a sandy or sunny boob just makes someone more fun anyway.

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kelcey kintner