Wednesday, September 12, 2012

My Wardrobe is Revolting

Don't call CPS on me. Please. I have a confession. And I'm gambling on nobody having the CPS hotline number at the ready. CPS. Clothing Protective Services.

Last night I threw in a load of laundry when I started supper. You remember supper. That's the time in the evening when, according to Hick, I merely warm something in the oven, or heat it in the microwave. Good thing he doesn't run the Cooking Channel. It would be called the Warming Channel.

So I tossed those clothes in the washer, and just as I announced that the warmed and heated food was served, I transferred them to the dryer. Hick did not even heed the call to supper. He was receiving two freight containers over by the BARn. He likes to call them "my new outbuilding." But "dilapidated freight containers" seems more fitting to me.

This morning at 5:10, I went to the dryer to retrieve my socks. Nothing makes you more ready to face the day than fresh clean socks. I opened the dryer and observed huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse started seething more. I overheard them badmouthing me. Simply because I set the timer...but forgot to push the start button.

Granny Panties: "All day long we cover her butt! We must strive to survive under pressure. And THIS is how she treats us? This job ain't all it's cracked up to be."

Socks: "We could have made a break for it. Don't think we can't escape. It's part of the very fabric of our lives. Our toefathers before us disappeared practically every week. One at a time. So as not to arouse suspicion.

New Jeans of Genius: "This experience has taken all the starch out of me. Here I lie, spineless, in a crumpled heap, without the wherewithal to stand up for myself. I want to soar like an American Eagle. Not slump like a Walmart fall-apart."

My apologies to my thready friends. I need them. I toasted them good for fifty minutes. They warmed up to me again. But they are not happy with the athletic shorts and fast-drying knit shirt that Genius wore Sunday for mowing lawns. They see them as my favorites.

The Nike shorts and shirt smirk from their hangers, high above the lowly dryer.


  1. So you didn't push the start button! I tried for hours to get our dryer to work and even dialed a repairman before noticing that the dryer door was open. Did you know I dryer won't work if the door is open?

  2. Thank goodness those granny panties didn't fall into the crack. Or cracks.

    And where do those socks go when they disappear? That goofy standup, who once had his own show, claimed they would make a break for it and then have a party.

    (And if you wore Crocs to school, you'd have no need to wear socks. You could go commando.)

  3. "Toe fathers..." I am laughing out loud, with relief that I am not the only one. I asked retired honey what he did today and he replied, "The laundry."

    "Not true, I did it yesterday." I told him.

    Then he gave me the tutorial on how to operate the dryer..."Ummm, it has an ON button."

  4. I too giggled over toefathers. I'm glad they forgave you for making them huddle in there all night like laundry refugees.

  5. Stephen,
    Um...YES! What do you take me for, some internet-degree domestic engineer who wouldn't know enough to push the start button to start something? Did you know there's a light inside the dryer? That's a clue that the door is open. When you see light leaking out of your dryer. If dryers worked with the door open, ALL of the socks would get away.

    Those granny panties are trained in guerrilla warfare, you know. They're quite adept at creeping up behind.

    The socks are well-known pranksters. They love nothing better than to hide in an errant pants-leg or cling to the back of a dressy dress-up dress.

    My feet and ankles will not go commando. For the love of common decency. woman! Have you not heard the true rumor that I abhor feet?

    You might want to dash off a Note-To-Self. According to Stephen, dryers won't work with the door open. Of course, I've never tested his theory, preferring to slam the door shut when I see it open.

    They're kind of at my mercy. They can lay there and shiver in the dark, and dream of living in a house where that Snuggles bear jumps into them to cuddle. But nothing's gonna happen until I pry open that door.

  6. i'm here from bpotw. cute post! our poor, damp granny panties waiting to go for a hot spin.

  7. Sherilin,
    Thanks for dropping by. Your imagery is disturbing. You fit right in. ;)