Yes, Summer did possess a seemingly endless supply of the same pink tank top, but there were favorites among them. And while she really wasn't feeling up to doing laundry that morning, she'd gone and spilled an upsetting amount of juice on her favorite of the favorites, thanks to a cat that really should know by now not to be so underfoot all the time, and the last thing she wanted was for a stain to set in on her favorite of favorite tank tops, and so fine, laundry, you won this time, and she quickly treated the shirt for the stain and gathered up the growing pile of other clothes and headed on down to the laundry room to get it taken care of.

And did stop a moment to see someone already there. Not because of who it was, mind you, just that laundry was usually such a handwavey thing that she wasn't really used to anyone being there.

"Oh, god," she said, heading over to a table to set down her basket, "is this going to turn into one of those things where it's, like, all of a sudden, people seem to remember that we have a laundry room down here and everyone shows up?"

What? It was totally a thing!

But also, as she started to sort through a few things before really getting to work: "Hi, Stark."

Summer had being wondering if she was still on talking-near instead of talking-to level when she came in, so that definitely answered that.

"There usually isn't," she allowed. "At least whenever I come down. But..."

She lifted up the reason for her being here that morning, even though she knew Stark would be looking anywhere else.

"I had a juice incident."

"I was pouring it," Summer scoffed faintly, "at the exact moment that Pancakes decided to....I don't know....murder me, probably. Needless to say, I survived, but my shirt and the juice? Not so much."

"I hope so; it's my favorite one!" said Summer, tossing this poor victimized shirt into a machine, with about half a dozen nearly identical ones.

The question about her cat's homicidal tendencies, it would seem, was just going to be left ambiguous and unanswered.

It wasn't all pink! There were a few splashes of other colors in there, every so often, like the green t-shirt she was sporting today, and don't even get her started on that cute yellow Marc Jacobs top, but, no, yeah, endless supply of pink was fair.

"It's softer than the other ones," Summer offered, because there was, sometimes, logic to her reasonings, "and it fits a little bit better, too. And I'm good. Pretty uneventful Saturday, really. How are you?"

"That shirt," said Summer, after a moment of being mildly impressed by Stark's continued attempts to hold conversations...near her, with everything but her, "is pretty much the dictionary definition of a laundry day shirt. How long have you even had that thing?"

Summer shrugged a little. Not that Stark would necessarily see it.

"Just wondering," she said. "It definitely looks comfortable, I'll give it that. I just wouldn't wear it out anywhere, though, except maybe down the the laundry room. It is a good laundry day shirt, so..."

She finished loading that first set and closed the lid as if to complete that thought.