The First; Laundry Day

What happened when the mice first had laundry duty.......

The First: Laundry Day

Three unsuspecting mice were lounging in various places around the scoreboard. No villians, no kidnappings, explosions, car-jackings, virtual quests, or medival quests for that matter. Just a lazy day of sunshine, and ball games on the tv, and--

"YOU THREE CHAUVANISTIC FURBALLS!!!!"

Three terrified mice now were crouched behind the couch in a defensive position facing the door, which had been slammed open with enough power to force the doorknob into the wall. Charlene Davidson stood in the doorway, her alburn hair flying around her head like a pack of live snakes, fists clenched and shaking in anger.

After a minute of marveling at her resemblance to Kysha, the Martian Goddess of War, Vinnie was the first to brave the human's fury. "S-sweetheart, what brings you here?"

"DON'T YOU 'SWEETHEART' ME, YOU OVERGROWN DUNDERHEAD!!!! You three are in big trouble!!"

"Ch-Charley-ma'am, what'd we do?" Modo asked in a shaking voice, also noting the resemblance to the war god.

She took a few breaths to try and calm down. When she spoke, her voice was icy. "Why is there a huge pile of jeans, underwear, and socks in my basement?"

"Isn't that where the washing machine you told us about is?" Vinnie asked, flinching back as she glared at him.

"Yes it is, Vincent. What's your point?" she asked in a dangerous voice.

"Well, we, ah---that is, we thought that, um---ah"--the white mouse sent frantic looks at his bros to save him from the very ticked off human.

It suddenly came to Throttle why she was so angry, and he winced at what he was about to do. (And at the human female's startling resemblance to Carbine.) "Ah, Charley-girl, we were just waiting to ask you what kind of detergent to use," the tan mouse answered. "Yeah, that's it, detergent," he muttered to himself.

"So you three macho-mice were not going to leave it there, assuming that just because I am a female, that I would do it?" she asked, still suspicious.

"Not at all," Throttle lied through his teeth, preserving the furry hides of his two bros.

"Oh," Charley said, reverting back to her normal self. "Sorry for thinking so badly of you three. I'm just so used to guys being thoughtless like that. Just use the same stuff on the top shelf and follow the instructions and you should be fine." She made to pull the door closed and sheepishly smiled at the trio when she couldn't. "Sorry about that. I'll get you a new door. See you boys later!" The human whistled a cheerful tune as she went back down the stairs.

Modo and Vinnie looked over at Throttle. "I guess you're going over to Charley's, huh?"

Throttle glanced at his two bros with a cocked eyebrow. "Me? Who declared me laundry-doer?"

"You're the one talking about detergent," Vinnie pointed out.

"And you're the one that left all our clothes there!" Throttle snapped.

"Bros, think of this as an opportunity," Modo said.

The tan and white mice gave the grey mouse incredulous looks. "How is this an opportunity?"

"We can say we'll do some of her laundry too, and we can get rid of 'the shirt'," he said matter-of-factly.

"We're in!" The other two chorused.

"Anything to get rid of 'the shirt'," Vincent muttered darkly.

'The shirt', as it came to be known, was declared an evil, vile thing that needed to be burned at the first opportunity. Or ejected into deep space. Or sank with anvils into the ocean. Anything, so long as no one else from another planet saw it. If they did, Earth would be overrun by the worst sort of aliens in a matter of weeks.

Despite how 'cute' Charley thought she looked in it, none of her bros could possibly let her walk around in a pink shirt with blue letters that proudly declared 'EARTH GIRLS ARE EASY.' They rode over to the Last Chance Garage, determination in their eyes.

Three washing machines, one dryer, and a pink shirt later, Charley forbid them from ever doing the laundy again.

*&*&*&*&

Note: the line from the shirt was originally from a funny 1980's movie title, a film about three aliens that land in a girl's pool. Not to mention, I own that shirt.