Being it’s Wednesday, I have my weekly date-night/happy hour with “she who shall not be named.” (I’ve been having difficulty coming up with a character name for her that fits as well as Wizard of Oz characters did for my sisters. Any suggestions of high-maintenance, judgemental, bossy females would be appreciated. I’ve considered calling her “The Earl of Sandwich,” as she may become as historic a gambler as he (I have watched her eat at a slot machine before), but I don’t think she’ll want me referring to her as such, as I know she reads this blog).
I had these grand plans of getting up this morning and getting shit done. Shower, vacuum, a few other chores, and intended on posting last night’s dinner recipe (oh boy, is it a good one).
But once I was motivated to get moving (gotta hook the coffee drip up to my veins early so I can meet my caffeine overdose commitment by 10:00 am), I realized I had never moved my laundry from the washer (which had most of my jeans in it, including the pair I intended on wearing today) to the dryer the night before (probably because we all know how I feel about the basement after dark).
So I make my way down the stairs, thinking “I can blog while I wait for this to dry. Just gotta re-prioritize the list of tasks.”
Upon starting the dryer, it makes a “noise.”
I know you’re thinking, “Of course it makes a noise, you frittata. It’s an appliance. WTF?”
It sounded like I had added a bunch of rock salt or pennies into the thing.
I panic and stop the dryer.
Um. Ok. No pennies. No rock salt. Should I try starting it again? I mean, I really want to wear one of these pairs of jeans. My only other option would be the one pair of “mom” jeans I own, and I certainly can’t wear those tonight.
I start the dryer again. Same noise. I proceed to stand there for a moment and listen. I consider the possibility (because I ALWAYS assume the worst) that if I don’t stick around for a few minutes and make sure things are proceeding normally, the house will burn down due to a dryer fire, and I only have one carrier for two cats, and how am I going to get the animals out of the house and keep them safe? Seriously, this is the shit that goes through my head.
Then I hear it.
What the f*** was that?
A strange “popping” sound comes from across the other end of the basement, in the direction of the Detective Stabler Room (this concept is explained in a previous post).
OH. MY. GOD.
Dilemma. Dryer fire or white walkers? Which would you choose? Because in my head, at that moment, those were the only two timelines my mind was willing to explore… because there’s obviously something wrong with me.
Just as in a nightmare, I freeze, paralyzed by the insane shit my brain conjures up.
And after about six seconds, the dryer is sounding slightly more normal, which is enough convincing for me to BOLT up the stairs without looking back. Not sure how I’m gonna get my laundry once it’s dry.
To top it off, the local media is doing nothing today other than covering the American Idol auditions taking place a few miles from where I live. Clearly, they don’t screen any of the folks they choose to sing on the morning news. I should have been in the shower and avoided this, but alas I am blogging and hearing the Twin Cities’ finest renditions of whale songs. I can’t believe Idol is still a thing.
So, Hermione (this seems like a better choice than Earl of Sandwich), if I show up wearing my mom jeans tonight, you’ll know why.