The Mansion is not a fortress. It IS penetrable, especially in a reverse kind of way. Common sense flies out the window on a regular basis around here. Even though the windows are closed and locked and double-paned, with weather-stripping.
Farmer H had started a load of laundry while I was gone to town. That's not unusual on a Sunday. I didn't pay much attention. Sometimes he calls from the recliner to ask if the washer is still running. The Pony was standing at the cutting block, putting away groceries he had carried in for me.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The Pony continued taking bread out of a bag to move to the cabinet. Even though he was standing closest to the laundry room, with his back to the door, he made no motion to check on that OBVIOUSLY ABNORMAL SOUND FROM THE WASHER. He just looked at me, eyebrows raised. Of course Farmer H did not break his recline.
"Well! Go turn it off!"
"How was I supposed to know?" Groused The Pony. Most assuredly not interested in helping ME, Farmer H, or the washer.
"Shove in the dial! That turns it off! HEY! Your laundry is messed up. You probably have the washer overloaded."
"No. I only put three pairs of jeans in there."
"I guess maybe you should distribute the load a little more evenly. Come in and fix them."
Sweet Gummi Mary! I shudder to think what they might have done if that happened while I was still in town. The washer might have walked across the ceramic tile, and broken a hose trying to get away. I seriously don't know how they've lived this long without a major catastrophe.
4 comments:
Your last paragraph reminded me of the movie "Mr. Mom" the scene where the washing machine DOES start walking across the floor.
Yes. Probably you need to stay home all the time, to intervene when necessary. Farmer H is so talented, I'm sure he could cause a catastrophe even when he's not home.
I know!! I am constantly asking him to take his boots off as soon as he enters the house, but he insists on doing this on his own schedule and I end up cleaning up the mess he leaves. Just two days ago, after having to dig up a water pipe to cap it off, he tromped through the house and into the bathroom with muddy boots. When he came in for dinner, I calmly told him to grab the broom and dust pan to clean up his mess in the bathroom while I finished preparing his meal. He looked shocked. "What are you talking about?" He swore he never wore his boots in the bathroom. He had all manner of excuses. I reminded him that he was not 12 and that he had spent more time trying to get out of cleaning up his mess than the actual task would take. I with held his food until he cleaned up his mess .... maybe he is 12 after all.
I thought the clang might have been from a belt buckle with someone who shall be nameless forgetting to remove said belt before tossing jeans in the washer.
Sioux,
My favorite part of that movie is when Michael Keaton pretends he is wiring the house, and the guy asks, "220?" and he replies, "220, 221..." Even I know that electricity is 220 or 110.
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Kathy,
I hate boots in the bathroom! My tender feet are tired of stepping on sharp pebbles that hitch a ride in waffle soles. The mud has generally fallen off in the kitchen and on the living room rug before it reaches the bathroom.
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River,
No, he always takes off the belt. This was a mechanical CLANG from the very innards of the washer, not a less serious surface clanging of agitated metal.
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