Saved by the Laundromat

Two weeks and two unplanned trips to the laundromat have left me thankful these places exist and longing for our washer to be fixed for good.

When I was younger, I made many a trip to the laundromat. I then graduated to apartment complexes that had their own washers and dryers. Finally, we moved into a house where we could just walk down a few stairs. An awesome convenience, except when one of them decides it doesn't want to work when filled with wet laundry.

It first happened just before we left for the Memorial Day Weekend. That last-minute load of laundry sat in the sink for two days before we finally got home and had the opportunity to get it to the laundromat. Then last night, it happened again. We'd just gotten inside from mowing and trimming our yard when Julie sat down and made the announcement: "The washer's not working again. The whites are soaked in there, but it's not doing anything." My reply, "You're kidding?" I knew she wasn't. You can't fake that body language. So, at 8:45 last night it was off to the laundromat.

Thirty minutes later we were on our way home. Thursday the repairman comes with the part that should fix the problem. Here's hoping. Soapy Waters is a nice place (thanks for listening by the way), but I'd rather not have any more surprise trips to the laundromat.