Friday, October 6, 2006

For THREE cents...

I would KILL my clothes dryer. And I almost did.

It starts like this: I like to do the laundry. Because, frankly, I just don't like the way my husband puts the soap in the machine (you can all just hold the anal-retentive-obsessive-compulsive-neurotic-behavior comments right now. This is my 'thing.' We all have a 'thing.' Yes, you do so have a 'thing'. This is mine. Deal.)

I am here today to tell you that YES, they CAN be trained. After enough kvetching about how my husband throws his clothes into the laundry--shirt sleeves rolled up, pants one leg inside out with all the crap still left in the pockets, sock donuts--he's Changed His Ways. Occasionally I find a tissue stuffed in a shirt pocket, but no more bellyachin' from me. He puts all his clothes in the laundry right side out, pockets emptied of cell phone, wallet, keys and scraps of paper. I feel I have no right to complain any longer.

But today, I wanted some heads to roll just like the change that was rolling around in the dryer. Seems I washed a small handful of change and instead of dive bombing to the bottom of the washer, they hid in the folds of clothes and made their evil escape into the dryer. Where they started bangin' 'n clangin' 'n tinklin' and makin' me crazee.

I opened the dryer and fished a penny out from under all the clammy clothes, shut the door and started things a-tumblin' agin. There was some more clangin'. There was another coin. I sighed, pulled open the door, found another penny and commenced to drying once again. I walked away and after a moment, heard STILL MORE metallic macarenin' in the damn dryer. I yank open the door and furiously toss EVERY DAMN PIECE OF CLOTHING onto the floor in search of the offending coin. It's another penny. I THROW everything back into the dryer, SLAM it (to make myself feel better) and PUNCH the start button again (to make myself feel more better).

I walk away to the comforting sound of clothes softly tumbling in a warm metal cocoon and contemplate breaking out the wine (it's only 8 am) because, obviously, I am in a genetically disordered mood and must require something to Take The Edge Off. Medicinal Purposes Only. But no, I just down my fourth cup of coffee and think about stealing all the money out of my husband's clothes when he comes home later.

Solution: Before doing laundry, steal all money in house. Keep in safe, noiseless place. Keep wine close.

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