After writing my last post, I went to cook dinner for Ismael. More on Ramadan and how it messes up a marriage later.
While in there, thinking about how cooking at 9:30 PM does not produce my best work, I realized the washing machine had finished its cycle.
I removed the now defunkified clothing from the washer only to find the magnetic letters J, V, and H stuck to the metal tub.
You would think that last week when I found two very clean sticks in the machine I would have thought then that this was Adam’s new hiding place. Two Diet Pepsi’s and four magnetic letters later, I hope I remember in the future.
The washer made a horribly clunking sound. Is it dying right at the end of the spin cycle? The death rattle?
I opened the lid….
Given the fact that Ismael has caught such an acute case of the lazy ass that it is chapping MY butt, I knew there was only one suspect. He’s three feet tall and adorable most days. Before I can put him under a hot light and interrogate him, something else catches my eye…
SERIOUSLY. What is that ICK? It never once occurred to me that the machine that devotes its entire life to cleaning my stuff would also need cleaned. Isn’t that an oxymoron? A paranormal activity? A…I don’t know…something counterintuitive to common sense?
So I grab that top piece, pull it out and am horrified to find that the ICK that I could see can’t hold a candle to the ICKITYICKOHMYGODICK that was below the surface.
After a warm bath in bleach, I got out of the tub and tackled the washer issue.
Now that it looks like this….
I am rewashing every piece of cloth in this house whether it is clothing or not.
I threw the Diet Pepsi’s away. They were rat poison to start with and now? Totally unfit for human consumption.
Have a great evening. It’s been a barrel of monkeys here.
Delight is seeing dolphins swimming for the first time.
