Shortly before we closed the cottage for the winter the washing machine ‘gave up the ghost’.
There wasn’t enough time to call the local repair guy so I moved it to the back deck, threw a blue tarp over it, tossed a vintage aluminum chaise lounge on top of the tarp and cinched everything together with a bungee cord stretched around the middle making it look like a really fat man wearing a blue London Fog raincoat and very cheap belt.
We hopped into the car hurried south on I-75 to Detroit Metro Airport where we caught Spirit Airlines flight 3326710 back down to Florida the land of the midday sun. .
Not five miles from the cottage, after a heated discussion about how we were going to squeeze an extra $75 from our IRA account for this year’s tax bill, all thoughts about the washing machine dropped off of the radar.
(Wull, all things being relative don’t you think that a tax burden looming up on the horizon is a lot more threatening than the thoughs of running out of clean underwear in the Spring?)
Time moves on.
It wasn’t until Christmas that I remembered the washing machine after my friend Bill’s wife bought him a washing machine for Christmas.
“OH YEAH! THE WASHING MACHING!” I shouted out loud. Everyone had a perplexed look on their face. My friend Bill leaned over and whispered (a little too close to my ear for comfort), “Are you gonna get one too?”
I reared back and looked at his face. I didn’t feel comfortable with what I saw
I began avoiding Bill after that telling him I was too tired to go watch him mud bog. I hated that yellow Pinto he drove with those ridiculously huge tires anyway.
*Newly improved profile available.