Welcome To My World Of Hell! Wanna Chocolate?

Things are not going well at the household.

Not only are we dealing with Dee getting pummelled by Ass, and not only did our front door lock die on us on the weekend (it's now fixed, thanks to Mr. Handsome, so all you freaking robbers can just stop right there, turn around, and stalk someone else), but now our dryer has died...

Our dryer. Did you hear me?!

What are we going to do??

Mr. Handsome, being the handy guy he is, made a few phone calls, and he found out that our dryer, a Brentwood, is at least 25 years old, and that the motor on it died. That's what Mr. Dryer Repairman told him when Mr. Handsome described what it was and wasn't doing. Definitely the motor.

What? Never heard of a Brentwood? Neither had we.

And guess what?!

We can't get the motor on our Brentwood dryer fixed because they stopped making motors for that make two years ago. That's right. And it would have cost $250, which is still more than we would ever want to pay for anything, but it's a lot less than having to now go out and buy a new dryer.

And, as I'm sure you'll agree, we can't live without a dryer. A washer, yes, but a dryer?! Not on your life. What I mean is, who needs clean clothing? But really, you can't live with wet clothing. And if you know me at all, you know I don't do manual clothes drying. I can barely manage stuffing the clothes into the dryer and turning it on, let alone hanging things up on our non-existent line and then having to take it all down again at the end of the day.



Let's get real.

Our yellow Brentwood dryer came with the house when we bought it 10.5 years ago. And I hated it. Just hated it. I hated it because it was ugly. Who buys a yellow dryer? And this will give you an idea of how popular they really are. I just googled "yellow clothes dryer" and there are no images. None. We are the only ones with a yellow dryer in the entire world.

And now we have to buy a new one.

And you don't understand how stressful this is for someone like me.

I'm about to tell you something very personal, very private, very embarrassing. But I know you'll handle it, because you are great, and you are my friends, and you would never ever make me feel small. Come closer, though, so I don't have to yell it out. Closer...okay, listen.

The laundry room is a mess. No, I mean a real mess. And I don't have the energy to clean it up. Because cleaning up the laundry room would entail this:

That's how bad it is. Really.

See?

And I know what's going to happen. Mr. Handsome will get into one of his "Let's clean this mother of a mess," and he'll clap his hands and then he will expect us to all get involved and clean it all up while we smile. Kind of cult-like, really. And what choice will I have, my friends? What choice is there, when your husband is all willing to clean, and you really have to because the delivery men will be bringing in your new dryer, and will be taking out the old yellow one, and if they can't even get into the room, then how the hell will any of that even happen?

See, the problem is, I wouldn't even know where to start.

So, I'd much rather not. Start, that is.

I'd much much rather be doing this instead:



...or this...

I'll let you know how things progress...