Earlier tonight, I threw my clothes in the washer to avail myself of free laundry and thus arrive home with clean clothes (oh please, like you haven't done this yourself; it's like a natural law). I was in a hurry; Tony and I were going out to see Spy Game and he was waiting for me. I didn't pay attention to the detergent I used; I just dumped it in and left.

When I got home from the movie, I found that my mom had run the load through the dryer and left it folded in my room. (I'm serious. Is that sweet or what? My mom rocks.) I changed into sleep clothes -- men's boxers and a freshly-washed tank top -- and not five minutes later I was itching all over.

People, stay away from the Fab with bleach and spring-fresh scent.

Okay, I react to more stuff than most people. My mother switched bleach once when I was in grade school and I broke out in hives. But this is ridiculous. My clothes smelled like they'd been sprayed with an industrial strength air freshener. How did this stuff get past focus groups?

I can't really blame anyone but myself, though. There were two bottles of detergent and I didn't pay attention to what I picked up. I really should know better by now. So here I am.

On the bright side, Spy Game was fantastic fun. It's fast and tight and visually cool, with sometimes dizzying camera work and stylish effects. Robert Redford has fun with his role of a retiring CIA agent on his last day, using all his connections and tradecraft to outwit his own agency bosses; Brad Pitt turns in a natural, strong performance as an agent trained by Redford and then abandoned by the agency when he's 24 hours from execution in a Chinese prison.

I like Pitt. Don't give me that look. Did you see 12 Monkeys? Then chill. He's good at his craft; he can't help being gorgeous. Kind of like Redford in his Downhill Racer and Candidate days.

Anyway. Time to put the laundry in the dryer.

This is going to be a long day.