Three seemingly unrelated facts:
1. About a week ago my dishwasher decided, all on its own, to drain onto my counter and floor instead of into the pipe the way it's supposed to. I looked, but couldn't tell where the water was coming from. Sasquatch thought he knew. So I loaded it up and ran it, sitting at my kitchen table to see if he was right. He was, but that time it worked perfectly and has ever since. Now, however, even though I think something just got temporarily stuck in the drain and backed up, I'm afraid not to be in the kitchen when the dishwasher is running.
2. About a week ago I was standing in my kitchen worrying about the dishwasher when I heard a strange noise from my washing machine. I went into the laundry room only to find that the washer was draining (at high speed) onto the floor instead of down the drain. I looked, but couldn't tell where the water was coming from. Since it was draining the final rinse, I threw the clothes in the dryer and told the FG about it when he got home. He checked it out and couldn't find anything either. In the week since, we've run the washer several times with no incident. However, I'm afraid not to be in the kitchen when the washing machine is running.
3. Sasquatch comes about his blog name honestly. He's big and shambling, squints constantly (since he won't wear his glasses) and has long, thick, wavy hair halfway down his (six foot one) back. His hair is his pride and joy, even if you can usually tell what he had for lunch by looking at the ends. He speaks in grunts and is usually to be found standing in front of the fridge looking for raw meat. And his feet are huge. Like small paddleboats.
Okay? Good. Now on with the story.
I was in the living room when Sasquatch called me up to the bathroom where he had just gotten out of the shower. I complained loudly all the way up the stairs about people who will insist that I go to them instead of coming to me, but he kept yelling that he couldn't move. Hoping to god the kid was dressed, I knocked and then went into the bathroom. He stood there, wrapped in a towel, and held his hand out to me.
There was a louse crawling on it.
"It was in my hair," he said.
"Son of a bitch," I said.
Of course the first problem was that he didn't want to cut his hair. We went round and round and he begged not to have it cut right away. I agreed to give it a couple of days, but I wasn't happy about it. We combed and lice shampooed and conditioned and combed again. It was midnight at that point and we called it a day.
The next morning after the kids went to school I stripped beds and gathered every piece of laundry I could find. I threw them in the washer and the FG and I stood in the kitchen commiserating. And the next thing to hit our ears was the sound of rushing water hitting the floor at high speed.
After looking at it the only thing we could figure was that some water had been left in the bend of the drain pipe and it had frozen. Short of calling in a plumber to come in and deal with a (possibly temporarily) frozen pipe, there was nothing else to do. Time to hit the laundromat.
After my husband left for work I schlepped load after load of laundry over icy sidewalks and crammed my car with dirty laundry Beverly Hillbilly's style. When I got there, I walked past the group of mangy teenagers playing hooky from the high school across the street and started loading washers.
Forty dollars later it was done.
Fourteen loads of wash. Three had to be redone because the washer died mid-cycle. Untold quarters pumped into dryers on eight minute timers. All accompanied by the ear splitting sound of rap music that was entertaining the teenagers enough to keep them from mugging me. (With my mood, they would have regretted it). And, as the final touch, a grandma who followed me from washer to washer talking non-stop about all the mud tracked into the laundromat and how she wouldn't have put up with it if it were her business.
The FG met me part way through and we folded it all up. Brought it home and dumped it in the dining room. And as I stood there looking from clean clothes to broken washer to the new bottle of lice shampoo, all I could think was
I can't take this right now.
And then I provided some spectacular waterworks of my own.
There's a second poll up for the contest. Remember to vote. Something very funny is happening with the votes that I'll explain when the voting is done. I'm thinking at this point that we'll have a run off of the top five or so entries. You can vote once on each poll. Have fun!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Posted by the rotten correspondent at 12:02 AM