[[Man wearing piratey hat, coat and breeches watches woman in cap, long dress and apron hanging laundry on an outdoor clothesline]]
Man: Yeah! LAUNDRY gettin' DONE!
Woman: We're ROCKIN' it We're ROLLIN' it We're DRYIN' it DENYIN' it ...the right to be wet anymore
[[Man continues to lurk behind laundress while supportively conversing about her work]]
Man: Lookit that FORM! Lookit that TECHNIQUE! Baby this laundry don't stand a CHANCE!
Woman: Aw, P'shaw, B! Any dang fool can get on this train! It's just clothespins and finger-squeeze! Old LADIES got this noise covered!
[[Man changes direction of his lurk and continues]]
Man: I can dig it. It ain't the process, it's the MEANING. It's putting a hand in the windstream of that old, ancient interplay between fabric and moisture.
Woman: It's like Don't matter how rich you are. Your sheets still gotta get dry.
Man: Are we on a ley line? You got my toes trembling. This is METAPHOR-Y. This is LAUNDRY cranked to ELEVEN.
[[Man continues lurking in a supervisory fashion]]
Woman: So you FEELIN' it then! You got it so deep in your bones that you're fixin' to grab up a pin and help a sister out!
Man: Well hold on I mean the scale goes up to 43
{{header: turn up WONDERMARK.COM}}
{{alt-text: eleven is just 'passive admiration'}}