I’ve been away for a little while, so I thought I’d check in… make sure no one’s broken in or vandalized the place.
Although I run a considerable risk of being sat on, I’d like to discuss something that’s plagued humanity as long as modesty. However, in typical fashion, I’m going to wait a bit for the grand unveiling… long enough for me to ramble on a bit and fluff the word count on my blog stats (not that I’m keeping track, of course).
There’s something in my life that gets me up almost as reliably as a child in distress – and with almost as much dread. The difference is it’s not a surprise. It happens all the time, more than once a day. It only feels constant. It’s the buzzer on the washing machine or dryer.
Forget about wrinkle free – I could care less about wrinkles. Someone needs to be working on dirt, liquid, grime, and smell free. Imagine a fiber that made the washing machine obsolete. Imagine “doing laundry” meant taking the clothes out back, giving ’em a good shake, and all the extra stuff they picked up during the day magically sloughed away on a breeze. That’s what I’m talking about. I’d own two outfits – only because I’d be paranoid I’d destroy one in a freak scissors accident, leaving me with nothing to wear.
What? You’re not afraid of Mr Shears? We show the metal dude respect in this house.
Any-hoo, this entry is really an excuse to foist my latest theory on you. Some folks say the bad stuff in life makes you stronger, as long as it doesn’t kill you. Well I was thinking about laundry (fresh off a triple header) and decided I had to disagree. The stuff that doesn’t make you stronger or kill you drives you crazy. There ain’t nothin’ strong about bein’ crazy.
All I need is a slick name for this particular crazy, but the well’s running dry. Laundry loony and washer wacky is all I’ve got left.