I washed and dried a ball point pen today – to be exact my favorite pen that I had tucked in my jeans pocket. The inside of my clothes dryer looks like it’s been tattooed by a blind man, and my workout pants are splattered with blue ink. In that same load of clothes where my work out pants got inked, I also had the damn Target towels that won’t quit shedding after a year. When I pulled the workout pants from the dryer first, I thought, “Fitting end for those damnable towels.” But when I pulled the towels from the dryer, there wasn’t an ink spot on them. God hates me, but loves Target, and doesn’t care how much their linens shed.
So, I tried briefly to remove the ink from inside the dryer with some alcohol pads. Then I ran hubby’s T shirts through a wash and dry. Who cares if he has blue ink all over his T shirts. (Him probably) Didn’t work. The dryer sits out in the garage looking like a pen blew in its drum, and it looks that way because that’s what happened.
And this happened which I actually find more upsetting than forgetting about the pen in my pocket and loading it in the washer and dryer. The wind and rain here have been horrendous. Horrible. Plants bent sideways. Stop lights out. I saw two inside out umbrellas lying dead in the gutter as I pushed against the wind on my way to writing class. For a brief second, I thought the wind was going to bowl me over, but I fought the wind and I won – or so I thought. When I got home I was soaked. I took off my jeans and the wind had ripped my underwear. I swear. Scout’s honor. My favorite pair too. How does that happen. The jeans were in tact but the underwear looked like an angry cat got after them. And my favorite pair too. Stealth rip.
And then shortly thereafter I loaded the soggy jeans with the pen in the pocket in the washing machine, along with my ripped underwear. Bad day here at the ranch. Dryer graffitied and daisy gramma panties shredded mysteriously by subversive weather.