Not The Favorite
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Last Thursday, I had a complete brain fart and threw my new white blouse in the washing machine with my new black pants. Yes, I know I’m an ass. I have no idea what the hell I was thinking. The blouse came out a nice dingy gray color, but the pants looked fantastic. I’m fairly certain the pants had a smirk on them when I took them out and if they could talk, they most likely would have said “Ha ha. That’ll teach you.” After two rounds of gel bleach and one round of normal bleach, mixed with normal detergent cycles in between, I ended up with a slightly yellowed version of the brilliant blouse I loved and had only worn twice before. I’m still kicking myself in the ass for that one. That was one of the few times in my life where I really wished I had a time machine.
On to Saturday afternoon. The bathroom desperately needed to be cleaned so I sent Jon out to get some toilet bowl cleaner. I was disappointed to find he returned with Saniflush, you know the kind that turns your toilet into the blue lagoon and every time you use it you flash back to your grandparents’ house. Regardless, the toilet needed to be cleaned so I decided to go ahead and use it. Turns out, my rounded-front toilet tank wouldn’t have any part of that horrid blue liquid I was about to shove in it. Because of its rounded shape, all of the mechanics inside were squished together and there wasn’t any space to put the damn bottle in and on top of that there was a lip on the inside so the bottle wouldn’t sit flush (haha) to the side making it impossible to put the top back on properly. I tried flushing to see what would happen and didn’t the lever get stuck on the damn bottle. So much for that plan and I had to remove the bastard blue bottle. I somehow had to transfer the bottle to the sink where I could replace the cap, because doing it over the tank would have been much too easy. In the process of moving the bottle and replacing the cap, I dyed my fingers blue. They are still blue, like Chevy Chase Vegas Vacation blue.
And then last night. I broke my dryer. I was trying to fish a piece of Lauren’s overalls out of the lint trap with a magnetic chip clip attached to dental floss. Well, the trap was a wee bit deeper than I thought it was, not that it mattered with the ten feet of floss I used. Now, the deepness of the trap wasn’t much of a concern, it was when the magnet stuck itself to the side and then got caught on something that I became concerned. I pulled on the floss and it came out. Without the magnet. Crap. Out of sheer curiosity, I turned on the dryer to see what would happen. The most god-forsaken, ear-splitting, groaning/screaming noise emitted itself from that poor machine. I immediately turned it off and decided that for the safety of myself and the other appliances, who I’m sure were cowering with fear as I walked into the kitchen to tell Jon what an ass I was, that I would just stop doing anything and avoid all eye contact with the dryers buddies: washing machine, dishwasher, stove and refrigerator. I will call the repair man tonight to come and fix you and tell you that he won’t let that awful woman touch you again.