Know what sucks? Wringing out beach towels, a blanket and a sleeping bag by hand. For the second time in a month, I’m waiting for Bob, the washing machine repair guy. A few weeks ago, my washing machine wouldn’t agitate. Now the freaking thing won’t drain. We’re leaving for vacation in less than 48 hours and I have tons of laundry to do.
Yes, I know, I could go to the laundry mat, but I’m a certified Weirdo Magnet. If there’s a mentally unstable person in the vicinity s/he will immediately be attracted to me. I’m convinced I have an invisible beacon on my head that sends out the message, “If you wear tinfoil hats and converse with aliens, please come and talk to me. And never stop. Ever.” A couple summers ago, I was in line at McDonald’s and the gentleman behind me, tapped me on the shoulder and said…
Guy: Ya know, I’ve got (some-sort-of-long-complicated-name) silk moths eating my mulberry tree right now. (great conversation starter, huh?)
Me: I’m sorry.
Guy: No! This is great!!! Don’t you see? They’re extinct in the wild, they’ve only been bred in captivity for years now. But I’ve got them in my back yard.
Guy: It’s great. Ya know, I could work for the FDA, but they won’t let me, because I don’t have a well-rounded education. But I know everything there is to know about moths and butterflies all over the world. Seriously, I used to trade butterflies with Khrushchev’s son. I threw a bunch of ice on that cold war in my time, but now they (I assume he meant the military) don’t want nothing to do with me. And let me tell you, Khrushchev’s son knew exactly what he was doing. He’s got American citizenship now and everything.
Me: And butterflies, apparently.
I come by this trait honestly – my mom and sister have it too. Cait calls us Fly-Paper for Freaks.
Once I was sitting in a bus station with my mom waiting to go back up to see my husband who was going to school in the U.P. and a guy came and sat with us. He told us all about his girlfriend who was a prostitute and wanted to know if we thought she was cheating when she was working. As I was boarding the bus, he was trying to convince my mom to take him home with her because she was “such a nice lady.”
So here I sit, waiting for Bob and hoping that it’s a quick, easy, cheap fix. Also hoping it doesn’t need to be replaced. I think it was three summers ago that we had to replace the dryer. I should have known something was up when the cats sat around the dryer in a semi-circle staring intently at the dryer…and yet, I turned it on anyway. We were positive there was a problem when the laundry has been came out of the dryer smelling like dead fish. Dead fish that have spent the better part of a week in a sunny landfill. In Jersey. Turns out a possum had committed suicide. In my dryer.
So yeah…I’d really like to do some laundry right about now. Oh Bob? Booooooooooooooob? Where are you?