I typically do laundry on Friday nights, since Michael doesn't get off work until 8:45 and usually doesn't get home till 9ish. Also, pretty much NO ONE uses washers at 7:00 on a Friday night.
Anyway.
I was really excited to clean our apartment while the laundry took care of itself, since we were having my sisters and future brother-in-law over for Easter dinner on Sunday. I decided to wash an extra load of towels, kitchen rugs, etc. to really add the final shiny-clean touch. I was relieved that of the four washers down there, only one was taken, so I filled up the rest and went back to cleaning.
I changed into my Rosie the Riveter outfit (grubbies), and super-cleaned the kitchen and tub and even played handy-girl by fixing a light above our bathroom sink. By then the laundry was ready to put in the dryers.
As I walked down the stairs to the laundry room I noticed that it smelled a little...wierdish. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw that the floor was flooded.
Up to my ankles.
As you can see, the washers and dryers are on raised platforms. On the platform by the dryers crouched my beautiful Asian neighbor with her hand over her mouth and a very horrified/pensive look on her face as though to say "how will I ever get my clothes out of the dryer without going into the sicknasty lint water?"
I asked her if hers were the clothes in the far washer. At the sound of my voice, she suddenly jerked, and her hand came away from her mouth:
"My neighbor already call manager. MANAGER NOT HOME! MANAGER NO ANSWER HOME PHONE! MANAGER NO ANSWER CELL PHONE!"
I calmed her down, kicked off my shoes, and crossed the linty water of death four times as I moved all the clothes to the dryers. I assured her that things would be okay, picked up my shoes and slogged back to my apartment.
I decided to just go back to cleaning. As I was washing our bathroom mirror, my finger caught on the metal border at the top and sliced for a good six inches of mirror as I wiped across it.
Obviously, intense agony and a lot of blood ensued.
Four bandaids and a kitchen towel later, the bleeding stopped and Michael arrived. I explained everything to him and asked him for help getting the clothes out of the dryers. Not even questioning, Michael grabbed his flip-flops, rolled up his suit pants, and picked up the laundry basket. Armed with the camera and more bandaids, I trooped after him to document the experience.
I won't lie, I had the giggles pretty intensely:
Although the water had gone down quite a bit, it was still pretty gross and really hilarious.
After losing a heroic battle with the bathroom mirror, my finger and I felt much better because of Michael's life-saving sense of humor. Well, that and a freshly-baked batch of cookies.
Thank goodness for funny husbands, boxes of bandaids, adorable Asian neighbors, gooey-delicious cookies, and live-through-able adventures.
Anyway.
I was really excited to clean our apartment while the laundry took care of itself, since we were having my sisters and future brother-in-law over for Easter dinner on Sunday. I decided to wash an extra load of towels, kitchen rugs, etc. to really add the final shiny-clean touch. I was relieved that of the four washers down there, only one was taken, so I filled up the rest and went back to cleaning.
I changed into my Rosie the Riveter outfit (grubbies), and super-cleaned the kitchen and tub and even played handy-girl by fixing a light above our bathroom sink. By then the laundry was ready to put in the dryers.
As I walked down the stairs to the laundry room I noticed that it smelled a little...wierdish. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw that the floor was flooded.
Up to my ankles.
As you can see, the washers and dryers are on raised platforms. On the platform by the dryers crouched my beautiful Asian neighbor with her hand over her mouth and a very horrified/pensive look on her face as though to say "how will I ever get my clothes out of the dryer without going into the sicknasty lint water?"I asked her if hers were the clothes in the far washer. At the sound of my voice, she suddenly jerked, and her hand came away from her mouth:
"My neighbor already call manager. MANAGER NOT HOME! MANAGER NO ANSWER HOME PHONE! MANAGER NO ANSWER CELL PHONE!"
I calmed her down, kicked off my shoes, and crossed the linty water of death four times as I moved all the clothes to the dryers. I assured her that things would be okay, picked up my shoes and slogged back to my apartment.I decided to just go back to cleaning. As I was washing our bathroom mirror, my finger caught on the metal border at the top and sliced for a good six inches of mirror as I wiped across it.
Obviously, intense agony and a lot of blood ensued.
Four bandaids and a kitchen towel later, the bleeding stopped and Michael arrived. I explained everything to him and asked him for help getting the clothes out of the dryers. Not even questioning, Michael grabbed his flip-flops, rolled up his suit pants, and picked up the laundry basket. Armed with the camera and more bandaids, I trooped after him to document the experience.
I won't lie, I had the giggles pretty intensely:
Although the water had gone down quite a bit, it was still pretty gross and really hilarious.
After losing a heroic battle with the bathroom mirror, my finger and I felt much better because of Michael's life-saving sense of humor. Well, that and a freshly-baked batch of cookies.
Thank goodness for funny husbands, boxes of bandaids, adorable Asian neighbors, gooey-delicious cookies, and live-through-able adventures.
7 comments:
Geez, sounds like quite an ordeal! Aren't you and I glad for good Dixon boys who have often save the day for their wives without even blinking an eye? Bless them for doing it without even the slightest murmuring. Unfortunately for Mike, there'll be plenty more opportunities for heroism in the years to come!
I don't think I'm the same as my brothers . . .
Ben, I'm pretty sure you are a LOT like your brothers. I have moments every once in a while where I catch glimpses of you or Danny in Michael and it takes me a second before I realize that it really IS Michael.
p.s. I'm excited to see you this summer. Michael and I have a super intense puzzle that we are a bit intimidated by. I voted that we bring it to Mesa when we come.
Sounds like a plan. I have been a puzzleholic recently. I'm pretty dang good at them!
As nice as the story and the pictures were, I don't think I ever want to see Michael showing that much skin in that kind of pose again any time soon.
Thank goodness "Missionary Man" heard your cries, found a phone booth, and changed into his super flip flops in time to save the day! And to think that a hero of his stature was willing to take the time to help you fully document the adventure before flying off to his next super heroic save makes the story that much more impressive.
*very feminine sigh* That's just the kind of hero he is...*second very feminine sigh*
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