Sunday, March 25, 2012

Of broken washing machines, pet expos, and birthday parties

The worst has happened: our washing machine died. I deduced that it was not working properly when I attempted to wash a blanket, only to find that it weighed a hundred thousand pounds when I attempted to pull it out of the washer and put it in the dryer. The spinny thing inside the washing machine? No spinny now. When I told my husband about the washer's passing, he rolled his eyes and said this: "Fine! Let's just replace it. Again! I swear, we've had to replace that thing so many times!" I waited until he was done with his rant and suggested that he go downstairs, lift the washer's lid, and look at the date of manufacture. I knew he wouldn't do it, so I took the liberty of advising him of the date, which is 1998. You know, the year we bought our house? While it is true that we've had to replace the dryer, the washer served us for 14 years. To me, that seems like a pretty good run. I gave up on trying to convince my husband of the washer's dutiful loyalty, though. It's hard to reason with someone who does not understand how time works. He also maintains that he buys me flowers "all the time."  All the time = once a year on Mother's Day and once a year on my birthday.

Anyway, I went to Best Buy on Friday and bought a new one, which will be delivered on Thursday. The kid and I are flying out to DC on Wednesday. By the time we get back, I'll be looking at nearly two weeks of laundry that will have accumulated. So, I am thinking of doing the unthinkable: going to the laundromat. Now, I do not mean to imply that I think I'm too ra-sha-sha to to go the laundromat. It's just that, you know, I did my time with that crap. I'm having flashbacks to living in the dorms in college. No matter what time of day or night you tried to do your laundry, if you didn't have your stuff out of the dryer within a millisecond of the buzzer sounding, those chicks threw your shit on the floor. When P and I lived in an apartment back in the day, I had my share of hauling my clothes through the snow and across to the laundry building. Walking back to our apartment one time, I remember finding a pair of my underwear in a snowbank.  I was so traumatized by the whole thing that when we bought our house, I made sure that a washer and dryer were delivered the same day we moved in.

I may just suck it up and do a couple loads before we leave this week. I did run to Kohl's the other day and buy Miss Thang a new pack of underwear. They are iCarly drawers, which thrilled her to no end.

In other news, I worked at a pet expo Saturday and Sunday. I took my foster dog, Valentino. He was such a good boy. Everyone loved him. I did have one little mishap, though. When I was leaving the booth on Saturday (as the expo was ending), I thought maybe I should take a bunch of our cash with me so that we weren't leaving it overnight. I'm the treasurer, so it seemed to make sense. I put the money in an envelope, grabbed Valentino's leash, and headed out. But when I got home . . . no envelope. I had a panic attack. I flipped my purse inside out. I searched my car. I thought maybe I had dropped the envelope in the parking lot or something. I sent an email to the two volunteers who were working the first shift this morning, letting them know that I lost the money and to send me a text if they found the envelope. I wasn't really expecting that they would find it, though. Seeing the state I was in, my daughter asked her Magic 8-Ball if I would find the money. "Yes," came the reply.

Well, lo and behold, they did find the money. Apparently I left it . . . right on the table in our booth. However, we did cover the table with a sheet before we left, so I guess that's why I didn't see it. Anyway, half my weekend was sort of ruined, but I'll live - if my stupidity doesn't kill me, I guess.

While I worked at the pet expo this afternoon, the kid was at a classmate's party. I went to Target yesterday and picked out a gift and a birthday card for her friend. I handed A the card last night. "Here, sign this," I told her. A few minutes later, she handed the card and envelope back to me. She had written "I LOVE YOU JACK" all over it. Then she drew hearts and wrote "J+A" inside them. What the? She told me she loves him as a friend. Well, I sure hope so because what is the alternative? Also,  guess I need to talk to her about subtlety and such. I didn't realize she was so keen on this boy. They are on student council together, so maybe their love blossomed while they made posters encouraging the student body to participate in Crazy Outfit Day?  All I know is . . . Mama's not ready for any boy stuff. Nosirree.
Ensemble for Crazy Outfit Day