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Examiner
  • Annie Dear: Marooned in a sea of half-dry laundry

  • Just when it all lulls you into an evidently false sense of security, something crops up that grabs your attention as a mongoose grabs a cobra, not allowing you to concentrate on anything else until your own personal cobra is dead.

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  • Just when it all lulls you into an evidently false sense of security, something crops up that grabs your attention as a mongoose grabs a cobra, not allowing you to concentrate on anything else until your own personal cobra is dead.
    I refer to the tragic event which befell Sir last week. The clothes dryer decided to turn up its little toes and died on him, 10 minutes into a robust cycle of drying towels and other white things lying about the place.
    I came home from work to find the deck festooned with color coordinated laundry. White towels on any breezy surface, white knee high socks bedecking the sides of the washing basket, and a mountain of white tidy-whities – or underdungers if you will – adorning the railings. Quite what our neighbors thought at the time happily remains a mystery to us both, but I hope the term “white trash” didn’t enter into a conversation at all that day.
    Naturally, a goodly part of the weekend was consumed with finding a replacement, and realizing that the washing machine was as ancient as the dryer, it seemed timely to change that out too. Fifteen years is not a bad inning for these appliances, when you come to think on it.
    Wanting front loading machines, I came to a pretty rapid grinding halt in that department. Our laundry is 48-inches deep, and the appliances, with doors open, measure 50 inches, so short of ripping out several perfectly good walls, we decided the old top loader would have to do.
    You see the basic problem is, as I see across the whole area, nobody has clothes lines. Understandable in some ways, as they’re not the prettiest of back yard accessories, but you would have to admit, they are the personification of practicality.
    I remember when Madam was little and she would happily play in the grass as I hauled out the laundry basket full of towels and sheets to the old Hills Hoist – the rotary clothes line invented, for your information, in Australia, and I must confess to a certain feeling of peace in that chore. It was a chore which had to be done, but being outside surrounded by clean washing and gorgeous sunshine made up for the element of toil.
    To gather in the dried linens, I would painstakingly fold everything outside and with a feeling of triumph would stride back into the house with fresh smelling, albeit somewhat crisp sheets and towels ready for the linen cupboard.
    Those days are long gone, and I will admit that fluffy bath towels beat the cardboard rigid line dried versions hands down, not to mention the ease and convenience a dryer affords.
    Our new machines, which I sincerely hope will be highly obedient and dutiful for another 15 years, are being delivered and installed this week, so should you bump into me between now and then – do forgive the smell.
    Page 2 of 2 - With luck I’ll be clean and sweetly ponging of Bounce fairly soon.
    Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at anniedearkc @hotmail.com.
     
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