For all those reading this blog of who know me personally (which I assume are the only people reading this blog, because I have been shamelessly plugging my blog to anyone who’ll listen!) you’ll know that I am short. No, no, I can hear you all now with the common clichés: good things come in small packages; you’re not short, you’re just vertically challenged; why have you been standing in a hole all your life. Its endless...
So in my everyday duties of washing our clothes, and trust me we seem to go through a lot of clothes each week, I have my encounters with the torturous washing machine. Let’s be honest, the laundry is not a serene place in general and I admit I may have my way in the kitchen, but 
the laundry has always been to me how Yoko was to the Beatles. Take socks for example, they must be terrified when they are pulled out of their happy, smelly, moist home (like a mushroom) and thrown unceremoniously onto the floor for sorting. They are then scooped up and I can hear them screaming as I walk those few steps into the laundry where they have no assurance of their fate. They know that their friends, Terry the T’shirt and Hank the Hanky will survive, they’re big and strong (but in Hank’s case, no one wants to go near him!), but those in the sock genus (including close relations like invisible sockettes and knee-hi stockings) have no guarantee that they’ll return from the trip to sudsville and back! How many socks have been lost in battle, do they ever return? How many of us have one lonely dark blue sock, waiting for its life-partner to return to the draw, only to realise that they will never be reunited when they too are faced with the inevitable...the Salvo’s bag!
the laundry has always been to me how Yoko was to the Beatles. Take socks for example, they must be terrified when they are pulled out of their happy, smelly, moist home (like a mushroom) and thrown unceremoniously onto the floor for sorting. They are then scooped up and I can hear them screaming as I walk those few steps into the laundry where they have no assurance of their fate. They know that their friends, Terry the T’shirt and Hank the Hanky will survive, they’re big and strong (but in Hank’s case, no one wants to go near him!), but those in the sock genus (including close relations like invisible sockettes and knee-hi stockings) have no guarantee that they’ll return from the trip to sudsville and back! How many socks have been lost in battle, do they ever return? How many of us have one lonely dark blue sock, waiting for its life-partner to return to the draw, only to realise that they will never be reunited when they too are faced with the inevitable...the Salvo’s bag! So back to me and my antics in the laundry, I am going about my business taking the wet washing out of the machine and quite often I have to lean into the machine to get Ursula the Undie from the bottom of the barrel. When this time, my little arms aren’t quite getting a grip on Ursula and suddenly I fall into the machine. In the process I have accidently pressed some buttons and the machine pipes up with its little song saying ‘I’m ready to fill, tell me the load size or I’ll tell you’. So not only are my legs upright in the air and my head in the barrel of the washing machine I am facing the possibility of having my head and hair soaked! (oh the humanity!). Needless to say after I was rescued by that dashing husband of mine, we had a great laugh – nearly as good as when the bucket fell on my head in the laundry no less (I knew that room has dark forces!)!
Till next time peeps...
Oh how I howled! This was great reading Rom, I love hearing of your adventures :)
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