My washer, dryer and I are finally reunited after a long, long year.
Our dirty laundry has been exposed.
I've washed at the campground and local laundry that is next to a beer joint. I've washed at the Ronald McDonald House when helping during my grandLittle's chemo.
I've carried laundry up and down metal stairs to use a washer and dryer outside a downtown Atlanta motel.
I've loaded my car with no help, got to the laundromat and with people standing at the door, no help holding it open. Same way going back.
But no more.
That whole thing of saving-quarters-till-they-weigh-as-much-as-the-laundry is OH-VER.
Ninja Man showed up with these dreamy appliances just this morning. I tried to help him unload, but that has never ever gone well. Just as I was about to lose it- y'all, I mean LOSE IT…. out daughter showed up.
She and her dad share a brain. No really. They do. They got that washer inside and here's who died: nobody.
Again with the dryer. Nobody died.
Partly because I completely left the area. I hid out in the restroom.
Anyway, here I am at Six Little Acres, listening to the swish and gurgle of my washing machine. I think I'm in love.