After the arrival of our new washer and dryer, I was about giddy with excitement to use the new workhorses. They promised 18 minute washes and 18 minute dries! NEVER, in all of my life, had I had the privilege of using a W/D set that wouldn't cause me to do the laundry basket shuffle, commonly known as "a reason to curse in at least seventeen languages and cultures". You know the shuffle:
a. first load in washer finishes..start clothes in dryer..place second load in washer.
b. second load in washer finishes..unload clothes into basket..check load in dryer (never done)..expectantly place third load in washer.
c. third load finishes in washer..unload clothes into SECOND basket..check load in dryer (ALMOST done)..curse while you place fourth load in washer.
d. fourth load finishes in washer..out of baskets..dryer is done but clothes are wrinkled beyond belief. Vow to iron them before folding/hanging.
e. notice time..carpool, dinner, homework, bedtime, favorite TV show, bed.
Fast forward to following day, which collapses sometime between the alarm going off and getting out of bed; midday, make a mental note to do laundry in the morning.
Finally, two days later, discover a wrinkled mess in the dryer from sitting two nights in the machine. Find basket of laundry mildewed along with load left in washing machine.
Leave laundry room, head directly to kitchen. Find chocolate chips left from before Christmas; consume immediately. Chase with spray can of whipping cream. Vow to find a reputable cleaner who does laundry by the pound.
That pretty much informs my entire married life with kids and laundry, though I was always too cheap to send my clothes out.
But, back to the coudegra of washers and dryers. Eighteen minutes, I tell you, eighteen glorious minutes. I have visions of saving the day when one of the boys spills syrup on his last clean school shirt/shorts ("I'm only 36 minutes away from getting you off to school, sport!")
So, I sat on the floor of the laundry room and watched this glory happen. It was awe-inspiring: the miniscual amount of water, the little bit of HE soap, the amazingly fast spin cycle, the thoughtful light button that let me witness this beauty. It was cotton/polyester nirvana. And I sat through every last second until...the machine broke. Yup. Proudly displayed an error message and "877" number*. Mike said all he heard was "NNNNOOOOO". It was so pathetic sounding that he knew something was wrong.
Oh, curse you, laundry fairies!
*Once I'm past the trauma of the next several sets of phone calls that ensued, I might blog about that joy, but for now, just know that yours truly, was not a happy camper. LOTS of chocolate chips were consumed.
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