The Full-Service Laundering of a Life.

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She took him to the cleaners, did she? Poor sod probably thought they were popping out for a Pret and a packet of Hobnobs. Next thing he knows, he's standing in his socks, wallet vaporised, dignity tumble dried, and his emotional support fleece now property of her solicitor.

You’ve got to admire the phrasing, though, “to the cleaners.” As if she did him a favour. “While I’m rinsing your bank account, shall I pop your soul in for a quick spin cycle?” It’s not a breakup, it’s a full-service laundering of your life. She didn’t just leave she left with receipts, dry cleaned trauma, and a loyalty card for future use.

And you know that wasn’t the only errand. She probably swung by his self-esteem on the way home and left it in the charity bin. “Oh look, your masculinity’s on sale next to the novelty mugs and broken toasters.”

Meanwhile, he’s wandering around like a confused sock no pair, no purpose, just hoping someone will shove him in a drawer and forget he exists.

Still, chin up. At least his emotional baggage is now neatly folded. Shame it smells faintly of bleach and regret.

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