So you know my
reason for living washing machine? The beautiful, wonderful, ginormous machine that makes my life so much easier?
Yeah. It’s broken.
During a cycle this morning it started making HORRIFIC noises, noises that were not made to come from a washing machine. I ran out of the bathroom where I was straightening my hair (This, let me tell you, was an interesting sight. Half the head was already blown out and in two separate pigtails, and the other half was wet and frizzy. I looked lovely. Shocking that I’m not in a relationship, right?) and threw myself at it, possibly screaming and crying and begging God that if He lets this stop I will totally sacrifice my firstborn son, or, you know, a lamb or something look, I’m not sure what You’re into now, Catholics pretty much let the whole Old Testament thing slide.
It stopped making the noise. I went back to my hair.
Ten minutes later, John announces that, um, maybe there’s water? All over the floor?
Oh. Shit. I huddled in the corner rocking back and forth thinking of my happy place (which, incidentally, includes CLEAN TOWELS).
Not actually that huge a deal, because for some reason this week our family is fairly brimming with washing machines that aren’t being used. Or, I could, I supposed, venture back to the laundromat.
Which actually just makes me think about the Norman invasion of England and the Crusades because I spent the entire time sitting there studying for my history midterm. So now when I think about communal washers I think about Innocent III. 🙂
ETA: Apparently somebody will be over tomorrow. “Now, that doesn’t mean that it will be fixed tomorrow,” my mother warned. Oh. Oh, it will be fixed. If I have to offer inappropriate favors and possibly threats against his family, it will be fixed.
ETA 2: Goodbye to Mickey! And Spawn of Mickey! You other two readers will really have to step it up in the comments section the next few days.