It evokes an image in my mind’s eye which is … diverting… Reckon a grimy Northern oik would stand a chance there? Any of 'em fancy a bit of rough? I could help them fumble for change…
(Gitanes - French cigarettes. Fray Bentos do meat pies in wide, flat tins that are easily adapted as ashtrays, if you’re not fussy, which most launderettes aren’t.)
Curses. that’s the second time this has happened to me on the SDMB. My apologies 
I was attempting to describe the appearance of continental au pair girls (cashmere, “Gitanes” cigarettes), serving affluent families from the English county of Surrey As per Steve Wright’s suggestion, they have taken the students’ dirty laundry from Oxford in order to wash it at home. The au pairs are in my local launderette, which is in Godalming but is less than salubrious. In my experience the said launderette has, in place of an ashtray (mmm, smoking as you launder), an empty ready-made pie tin.
That’s the story, but somehow all the joy has gone out of it 
Embra
Ah. Thanks Steve.
I don’t know about your chances but our local pub landlord has occasionally made dark comments in a low voice about the “Scottish Mafia” when my beau and I have gone there to drink. So be on your guard. We haven’t been barred yet, but one more complaint about ice in the Whiskey and that’ll probably be us…
E
This just cries out for naughtiness on my part. So I spent a few minutes thinking of something clever, with just the right amount of innuendo in it to perk your interest, when I come across this…
Now, all I can think of is that you have Pungent Undies. laughs You sure know how to turn a girl’s head.
I think I’ll have to play Lusty Wench with you in a different thread. 
As for the nose flutes. I can hardly even imagine playing one, or oh god, touching one after it’s been played by someone else. Ack.
I loved the whole thing, but
had me giggling so hard I woke the cat. Painted kind of a Monty Python picture of John Cleese silly-walking down the street, thwapping his head.
Brilliant rant, Steve Wright. I must say it was a most enjoyable read, even though praise won’t get your undies any cleaner.
I just wanted to note that out here, in the middle-of-fucking-nowhere-even-by-West-Texas-standards, I frequently hear amongst my friends (and I’ve adapted the definition for personal use as well) the word salubrious used to mean “the state one feels as one comes to be aware that one is starting to get drunk.” (As in: “It took a few beers, but I’m finally starting to get salubrious.”) Nobody seems to know the true definition of salubrious (and freely admits it), but it certainly sounds like a word that should be used in this context.
And, also, her stomach… Would it help if I mentioned my mellifluous British-accented voice, Home Counties with a touch of Liverpool thrown in? (Yes, I read that thread on British accents, I even took notes.) Can I tempt you into an agony of indecision? Stinky pants … British accent … Stinky pants … British accent …
Embra, I concur wholeheartedly on the issue of smoking in the launderette; the idea is to take home clean clothes, dammit, not clothes reeking of fag ash. I’m afraid, though, that the image of French au pairs crammed together in a hot confined space continues to distract me… in fact, it’s beginning to develop dialogue (“ça alors, it is hot here, my friends, can one of you help me remove my cashmere jumper…?”) Aaaagh… quick, calm down, Steve, think of something cold… but not ice in whisky, that’s horrible…
Oh, it would help. Oh Yes. Perhaps you should refer back to your notes for some…conversational suggestions. 
On to the Agony of Indecision…
Turned Off … Turned On … Turned Off … Turned On … Help me.
I think the solution to the problem of Alternating Arousal for jazzmine and Steve Wright is to forego the use of Pants, whether outer- or under-, altogether.
Someone’s gotta do it…
Fag Ash…
BAND NAME!!!
Sorry. Back to the knickers.
Picture, if you will, an endless barren waste.
In the distance, we see a lone figure approaching with a slow and steadfast tread. His stance and gait speak of confidence and unrelenting purpose. As he comes closer, we can see his face, set in an expression of determination, yet calm withal. Whatever his goal, he pursues it, unflagging; whatever his burden, he bears it, uncomplaining.
Who is this solitary trudging figure?
It is David Carradine as Kwai Chang Caine in the opening titles of Kung Fu. It’s not me on the way to the next closest launderette - that word “uncomplaining” should have told you that straight away.
Actually, the walk to the next closest launderette, though long, wasn’t that bad. (Oxford geographical reference: the one on South Parade is slightly further from me than one on Botley Road, so Botley Road is the way I went). I got to walk along the banks of the canal for part of the way; lots of trees, water, swans and things, very calming and peaceful. One of the residential narrowboats moored on the canal was up for sale; I noted that, as just about the only residential property in Oxford I could afford to buy. (Et responsum est ab omnibus:“You can’t get a mortgage on a narrowboat, Steve.”) I know… but the idea of living the rest of my life drifting tranquilly along Britain’s Inland Waterways does have a certain appeal…
The one sour note came when a pair of Cairn terriers, driven into paroxysms of emotion by the odour from my laundry bag, went for my ankles. (Memo to HAZMAT team: please double-check the hermetic seals on the transport container. Thank you.) Fortunately, being savaged by Cairn terriers isn’t exactly a serious threat. (Or so I thought…)
And so, I reached the Botley Road Launderette, my pants were washed, a novel ecosystem perished in a deluge, and the world was saved.
Unfortunately, one of the Cairn terriers evidently had some sort of delayed-action ninja sneak attack, which made an old injury to my right ankle suddenly flare up. So, I spent most of the next day screaming in pain and falling over sideways. Such is life.
Second that here. If you’re looking for a job maybe you should consider writing. You’ve got a knack!
Since nobody asked, I thought I’d mention that my all-American dad calls it a “washateria”. I think that’s just the cat’s pajamas.
my million dollar invention:
disposable underware.
they will come on a roll that you can use in your paper towel holder.
I have often wondered why panty liner manufacturers don’t market their product to male college students.
Put them in a new more masculine box (probably a matte black box with MANLY illustrations)
call them something like: Skidz-B-Gone MANTy liners…for MEN!
with football players pitching the product.
constantly remind buyer that these are MANTY LINERS for MEN.
the advert will say something like:
wear your underware practically forever!
No more tiresome laundry loads of undies!
got a hot date in 10 minutes? Presto! ‘fresh’ Undies!
guarantee you it will sell.
There are up-scale neighborhoods in the US filled with boutiques and trendy shops – all selling highly profitable stuff. Ordinary shops, like hardware stores, can’t afford the high rent.
It is a good idea, but somehow I do not beleieve it will do well, at least where I am. Most of the people I know are more concerned with comfort than cleanliness, and somehow I cannot see “Paper” undies as comfortable. I believe the word is “Chaffing”
Do your worst, you smelly-pantsed bastards.
Disposable underwear for sale in your local Boots chemists. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Damn disposable pants