It’s kind of funny about moving into a new house, figuring out all the property’s crazy little nuances, those things that you won’t learn about on Zillow or Realtor.com.
Slogging burdensome hampers of wet jeans and towels across a thousand whole square feet and then down a set of shaky, uneven steps would inevitably lead to a string of curse words, followed by a pity party and a box of wine. While others drank because of job related stress or marital problems, my alcohol intake was strictly laundry based.
The washer in the pantry had its own challenges. Once when an open box of rigatoni toppled into the drum, I was tempted to flip the knob to “hot” and start a wash cycle just to be able to say I’d cooked dinner in the washing machine… But then I dropped the idea because choosing between “normal” and “permanent press” proved too big a decision. That’s a missed opportunity I’ll always regret.
This one even has a dimmer, which would be great if there was a light in the ceiling to dim.
Yes, we now live between the Footes (or Feete) and the Weiners. You don’t know how close I came to having the name “Long” printed on our mailbox post.
Hilarious, Angela. I love your sense of humor!
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Michael, thanks so much! You made my night!
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