There's no easy way to tell this story, and I'd like to preface it by highlighting how tired I was at the time. I went to a late night showing of "Mike and Dave need Wedding Dates" (10/10 btw), and the next day I found myself exhausted from the previous night's laughter.

I've been living alone for over a week because my parental unit ditched me for cooler weather. After about a month, it was past time for me to sort my laundry into whites, lights and darks and replenish my wardrobe, but it seemed my parents hadn't exactly left an empty washing machine.

As I looked into the sea of whites, I had to decide whether to run the load again in the washing machine or to move it to the dryer. But the threat of week-old-laundry smell was imminent, so being the fearless female that I am, I reached blindly into the washer and put the first thing I touched to my nose.

The first thing I noticed was the pungent smell of fabric that had been sitting in a damp -- dare I say moist -- washing machine for over a week. Yet the worst was yet to come. As I returned the cloth to its spot in the soggy clothes, I realized what exactly I was holding and what I had, moments before, held up to my nostrils.

There aren't quite enough words to depict how I felt upon realizing I had smelledmy father's jock strap. Put mildly, I was perturbed and extremely nauseous. My only consolation was the reminder that technically, the contents of the washing machine had all been washed once.

As I threw another Tide pod into the machine and pressed "normal wash" I had the distinct feeling that there would be nothing "normal" about me washing clothes from here on out. And although some memories just can't be erased, I persevere now with the knowledge that at least laundry can't get much worse.

Stay safe my friends; watch what you sniff.