Lather, rinse, repeat
July 6, 2010
I wouldn’t have been much cop as a Victorian hausfrau. Our washing machine packed up yesterday evening after much thumping (it) and shrieking (me). The bearing is shot, said Patrick the repairman, which would explain the oily mess that leaked into the machineful of spinning clothes. I spent a good hour soaking and scrubbing and rinsing and wringing and sweating and cursing our management company with their stupid no-clothesdrying-on-the-balcony policy. Not wanting to waste the breezy evening entirely, we left the balcony doors open until late and let the whole courtyard hear us hooting at Community.
We may have a new machine as early as tomorrow. Otherwise it’ll be pocketfuls of change and a good book for the launderette.
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The same thing happened to us a few months ago. We just announced that until the replacement came we would of course have to dry our clothes on the balcony. Somehow we compromised that we would never leave them “unsupervised” – as if they were going to run off and make mischief on their own!
Oh now, there’s a warning for me. Our machine is suddenly very noisy.