A Nasty Parable (to set the tone):
Friends come over and immediately notice all the damp running / riding clothes draped over the not-a-wall.
Friend: "Oh, is your dryer broken?"
Me, belatedly: "Don't touch that."
Moral: Don't be a bad friend & leave your stank out where your friends might accidentally come into contact with it.
There is no such structure anywhere in our house. Even if we had such a structure, I feel fairly confident that Don would veto the displaying of damp, stinky running clothes in public areas like that. (I have a lot less shame (read: social grace) than he does.) Even in non-public areas, though, there's no good place for hanging damp clothes to dry so they don't mildew in the hamper. I'm not arguing that this is a difficult problem to solve; just pointing out that I haven't solved it yet, so it is still a problem.
The default "solution" is that my bedroom floor is primarily used as a surface for spreading out wet workout clothes to dry:
While I will admit that this is totally gross, it's maybe not quite as totally gross as it sounds. Before I moved in with Don, I lived on my own for four years, during which time I had accumulated too much stuff and furniture not to need a separate room for it. (Don would not tolerate this for a SECOND if we had only one bedroom.) While it's technically my "bedroom," it mostly gets used for storage, so it's not like we're walking around in there a lot.
Except when we are. I went in there Tuesday morning to get dressed (my clothes live in that room) and possibly toss some now-dry workout clothes into the hamper; in the process of picking my way through the minefield of sweaty disgusting, my foot brushed against the top I ran in on Sunday evening.
(Right: Don has a vinyl desk chair that he uses to solve the damp workout clothes problem. Vinyl = not gross to get sweat on, as long as no one else has to sit in it. He is definitely the classy one in this relationship.)
It was still wet. Not like kind-of-damp and/or moist; like squishy, sopping WET.
My first thought: SICK.
My second set of thoughts: Wait a minute. That's from thirty-six hours ago. Shouldn't it really be dry by now?
Could it be that my running-fu has evolved to the point that my sweat no longer obeys the laws of physics?
What other mystical properties might my sweat have acquired?
My third thought: Girl, you are NASTY and your living conditions would make your grandmother weep bitter tears of defeat and disgust. Get thee to Target / IKEA / The Container Store / whatever and get yourself some of this action:
We're talking like $35.00 here. This is not rocket science.
Seriously. What is *wrong* with