Laundry Day

Paul had been dragging his feet for two weeks, but there was no beating around the bush anymore. He'd worn the same pair of boxer shorts for three days in a row, after turning them inside-out of course. Also, he wasn't sure his boss would deem a pair of polka-dot Bermuda shorts - the only clean pants he had left - work appropriate. Even his bedsheets could do with a wash. With great reluctance, he stuffed the entire contents of his hamper into an oversized drawstring bag and hauled it down the five flights of stairs to the laundry room in his apartment complex's basement.

After loading the washer - not bothering to sort anything whatsoever, because what really was the point? - Paul realized he'd forgotten a crucial step: soap. He could picture it clearly in his mind's eye, sitting on the coffee table in his apartment where he'd left it. Seeing as there was no way in Hades he was going all the way back up there to get it, he scrounged around in every cabinet and drawer, hoping another tenant had left some behind. Just when he'd given up hope of finding even the smallest Tide pod, his fingers bumped a small bottle at the back of a dark, dusty cupboard next to the water heater.

Paul frowned at the little green plastic bottle when he pulled it out. He wasn't familiar with the brand on the label. Heck, it didn't even look like English. There was an old man in 2B - Paul couldn't quite remember his name - from Egypt (or maybe Saudi Arabia? He really didn't know or care). Paul just figured it was something Mr. 2B had brought over with him from the old country. Although he couldn't read the words on it, it sure looked like laundry soap.

To make sure he wouldn't ruin almost every article of clothing he owned, Paul turned it over to check the instructions on the back. Again, no English lettering in sight. There were pictures, though. Or, parts of pictures. The label was caked in mud, making most of it impossible for anyone to read. Without really thinking about it, Paul raked his thumb over it, trying to rub the crud off.

BANG!!

A cloud of neon green, glittery smoke exploded in Paul's face as the bottle's cap flew off without warning, knocking him right onto his ass. He flopped onto his back, hacking and coughing on the bizarre smell of Lemon Pledge mixed with Oldspice, trying to breathe and wave away the weird cloud at the same time. Paul had just managed a weak, sucking breath and pulled his phone from his pocket - planning to look up the number for the poison control hotline - when a thick green arm suddenly reached out to him through the smoke.

"Howdy there, Friendo," a deep, booming voice said. Paul was yanked to his feet again immediately, allowing him to see who had spoken. There was a huge, muscle-bound guy standing in front of him, with bright green skin and a bushy black beard. This weirdo was dressed in nothing but a sparkly red turban and matching palazzo pants, with several gold loops running all the way up both his long, pointed ears. Paul was beginning to think he'd hit his head when he fell as the big guy brushed the last traces of green glitter off his stained Grateful Dead t-shirt.

"Who...? What are you?" Paul squeaked.

"Well, Bud, I thought that was obvious," the big guy answered. The laundry soap bottle floated off the floor and landed in his hand all by itself, which was then thrust into Paul's chest. "Call me Bubbles, Friendo: your wish is my command. Well, three of 'em, to be specific. So, what'll it be? C'mon, gimme a challenge!"

"W-Wishes?" Paul mumbled. "Like... I could have anything I wanted? Within reason, I mean?"

"Pfft, reason," Bubbles scoffed, rolling his eyes. "What kind of fun would that be? You want a purple unicorn? I'll bet you do!" Without waiting for Paul's okay, Bubbles snapped his fingers and a unicorn - as big as life and as purple as Barney - popped into existence between the washer and dryer.

"N-No!" Paul cried, grunting as the unicorn licked him upside the head. "Why the heck would I want that?!"

"No?" Bubbles frowned. "Okay. Well, how about an army of dancing leprechauns? They're as cute as they are deadly... and they know the rumba, too!"

Before Paul could say boo, Bubbles snapped his fingers again. The laundry room door burst open that second, and a dozen leprechauns cha-cha'd their way in, linked arm-in-arm in a Rockette style kickline. Two more followed suit, armed with a fiddle and a flute that they played a jaunty tune on.

"No, no, no!" Paul hollered, clapping his hands over his ears to block out the obnoxious music. "Will you just wait a second and let me think?!"

"Alright, fine," Bubbles huffed. "Think away, Friendo; you're in charge here." A moment later, his brows shot up and his grin widened. "Ooh! Wait, I got it! Just what a guy like you needs!"

With another snap of his fingers, the washer flew open and all Paul's clothes flowed out onto the floor in a tidal wave. Mixed in with the water and his clothes were a metric ton of gold coins and jewels. Last but certainly not least, a woman tumbled out of the machine and landed at Paul's feet. It took him a minute to recognize her, all sopping wet with coins stuck to her clothes: Cheryl Derkins, the girl he had a crush on in high school.

"Pretty sweet, huh?" Bubbles grinned.

Cheryl looked like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown - for good reason - and Paul had had enough. "You know what I wish for?" he snapped. "I wish I'd never met you!"

Bubbles frowned, but nodded. "S'okay; I get that a lot."