When the washing machine finally stopped, Ryan wanted to throw up. Unfortunately, jockstraps cannot throw up. So he just lay there pressed against the steel wall of the washing machine drum on top of the red jogging pants. It was like getting off an hour long ride on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the carnival, and then being forced to hold your vomit in. Ryan had never felt like this before.
"Aw! Sh- uh!" exclaimed Horst catching himself before he said an expletive in front of his mother, as he peeled Ryan out of the washing machine and held the twisted jockstrap up to the light, "What the-? Ma, if I wash it again with more bleach do you think it will be white again?"
"Honey, see those holes in the jockstrap? Those are from too much bleach. You put that in more bleach, and it will probably disintegrate. Now there are worst things that holey pink jockstraps, at least it is still wearable. I'd suggest line drying it to keep it from getting any more holes. In the future you may want to hand wash it."
Horst looked like he was going to be sick.
"Listen, Hun bun, if it really bothers you to wear a pink jockstrap at school, we can dye it."
"Dye it white?"
"No. Bleach is the only thing that whitens, and as I said I doubt it will survive. But we can dye it a darker color. Maybe blue or red or even black or brown. You remember when when your father spilled India ink on his khakis, I dyed them black to conceal the stain. I still have some black dye, and I have brown dye from when I dyed my skirt to match my brown shoes. But we can get other colors at the store if-"
"Sounds great. Let's dye him now."
"Him?"
"I mean it. I'm just so flustered with a pink jockstrap, do you know what the other guys would say."
Ryan's head was still spinning. Holes? Did someone say holes? Holes in me?!!! Ryan's thoughts cleared up. Now Horst was planning to dye him?