Hang it all!

Our washer broke down this past weekend.

Quit before the spin cycle on a load of towels. Wouldn’t budge even one more turn. Of course I tried another load. Who knew, right? Maybe it was an unbalanced tub thing.

I threw the first load of dripping towels into a water-tight laundry basket, started another load of towels.

So there I am, a soaking-wet load of towels in a laundry basket and finger crossed.

Damn thing stopped again at exactly the same spot in the cycle.

So there I STILL am, but now with two loads of soaking wet towels.

Throw in a load of clothing, just to see, I thought. Slopped the second batch of towels into the tub. Replaced it with a load of clothing.

Screeching halt at the same mid-cycle moment a third time.

Crap.

Threw the clothing in the dryer and ran it a few times. Came out OK.

But…

So there I am, two loads of soaking wet towels in a tub.

I didn’t want to go to a laundromat, so I thought, “Hey, I’ll hang ’em out on the clothesline while I figure out if it can be repaired and how much it’ll cost or track down another used washing machine.”

(We try to never buy new – less environmental impact that way.)

My son helped me lug the tub of very wet and very freakin’ heavy laundry tub of towels out to the back yard.

Water dripped as I clipped towels to the line, but TALLY HO!

All was well, until…

Three towels to go.

Egads.

Portrait Picture of a collapsed clothesline for first-world problems post

First-world problems, eh?

Well, crap. Life happens. All you can do is roll – not tumble – with it.

Meanwhile…

I’m thinking it looks a bit like I will when my wife gets home…

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Martin C. Fredricks IV

Martin C. “Red” Fredricks IV here. I’m husband to an amazing woman who is also my best friend, dad to three outstanding kids, Fargoan (North Dakota, that is), proud introvert, veteran messaging strategist/copywriter, and big-time reader. As they say, if you're gonna write good stuff, you have to read good stuff. A ginger, too - ergo the "Red" - although some of it's going white. Cinnamon-Sugar, I call it. Tattooed to boot; seven so far. At age 54, I'm stilling crankin' AC/DC & Metallica, but now and again I spin some Eric Church and Black Uhuru, too. I love hanging out with my (much) better half, spending time with our kids, writing, hiking, riding my mountain bike and reading.

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