First it was red.
Then it was purple.
Wednesday, it was brown.
No, it isn't premenstrual sludge.
It is yet again a heated encounter with crayons in the dryer. Twice last year, now this.
Can't really blame the kid if I don't check pockets well enough.
But I wanna.
The deal is, tho, I don't have many clothes. One or two loads about covers it for the clothes I have that I can wear. I have plenty I can't wear, they litter my life, but I really hate buying many bigger girl clothes when the move-up time comes.
The load was almost all of my stuff, not a load of the stuff J is outgrowing and changing seasons on anyway. Besides, he deserves to have crayon clothes, I have begun to believe. Not me.
The event took out my favorite blue shirt. I wore it yesterday anyway while doing the art projects, figuring I had an excuse: painting w/K-ers. Several people gave me sad "Awwwwww" 's, saying, "Look, she got paint on her shirt and ruined it."
No, I left the house that way. On principle.
But what a fucking pain.
As for the undies that got hit... Ha! I don't care and P couldn't care if they had ass-sized holes in the back. He'd appreciate the latter actually. Hmmmmm, maybe I should trim some crayon and spice up the love life? As if...
PS - If this happens to you, don't even try to clean the dryer. Nothing will come out, even using the recommended WD40. It won't come off on your next load of clothes, either, so don't delay doing laundry like I did the first time, worrying that the dryer will ruin even more stuff. Save yourself the hassle and time; just go on out to buy that new wardrobe, yet again.
2 comments:
Ugh. I've learned to check my husband's pockets. No crayons, but plenty of other stuff.
I forget the circumstances (baseball?), but the other day, ex, J and I were together outside. J runs up with a rock the size of half a Krispy Kreme. Ex's comment was, "Sure, J, keep the rock so that your mother will have something to find in the washer."
Yup, the rock was in the bottom of the washer for the brown crayon load.
If only crayons were polite like rocks and clear the pockets before the dryer.
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