But That’s Not What This Story is About

First, a long overdue thank you to Deanne for the recipe for homemade taco seasoning in the comments of the last food post.  I shall be trying it soon!

But that’s not what this story is about.

So the other day my washing machine fainted.

“What?!” you ask.  “How does a washing machine faint??”

Well, it’s like this:  One day last week, I don’t remember which day, probably Saturday, I threw a load of laundry in and we all went out somewhere, I don’t remember where, but probably to see the horses.  When we came home, the astute and perennially studly husband (who, not surprisingly, has lost more weight than I have) noticed the washer was making a very odd noise, almost as if it were saying, “Quick!  My swoon bottle!  I must have my swoon bottle!!”

“What’s this noise the washing machine is making?” he asked, as if I were the Maytag man.

By the time I could join him in the laundry room, and before I could give him the swoon bottle schtick, the noise had ceased and the washing machine was doing nothing.  NOthing.  I spun the nob and tried restarting it, and nothing.  SWOON.

So the IT god husband got the bright idea to unplug the washer and leave it be for a couple hours, then plug it back in to see if it worked.  I mocked him and said that one can’t reboot washing machines.  He called my dad, who told him to unplug it for a couple hours and leave it be, then plug it back in and see if it worked.   Puh-lease.

After a couple of hours, I plugged the thing back in.  And?  It worked.  So you see?  My washing machine didn’t die.  It fainted.

But that’s not what this story is about.

Incidentally, we are replacing the washer and dryer anyway.  They are relatively old, our family is large, and I have neither the time nor the patience for fainting appliances.

But that’s not what this story is about, either.

This story is about the events leading up to the Big Swoon.

It began in the morning with Tank Boy telling me he didn’t have any clean underwear in his dresser and a subsequent massive search through the clean-but-as-yet-unfolded laundry piled in a basket on the dryer.  The search was futile, and Tank Boy was forced to go commando while I began sorting and doing even more laundry.

Throughout the sorting process I noticed a conspicuous lack of Tank-Boy-sized underwear and asked him where it all was.  In typical six-year-old boy fashion, he shrugged his shoulders and said something like, “I dunno.”

As I continued to sort and shove laundry around on my laundry room floor (what?  who cares if it’s on the floor?  it’s getting washed anyway) I noticed a clump of clothing behind the door.  I pulled it out to find, of course, several pairs of Tank Boy’s unmentionables.  Predictable, no?

What I did not expect to find, however, were what can only be diplomatically described as severe skid marks gracing the little boy boxers briefs.  I will spare you the graphic details and an expanded metaphor about how much rubber was on the road, but, obviously, a conversation with my son was in order.

“Dude,” I said, “If you don’t wipe well enough and your underwear winds up like this, TELL me about it.  Don’t hide it.  I need to wash it right away, not have it festering behind the laundry room door.”

I know at this point you are wondering how bad my house must smell if we hadn’t noticed the odor of more than one set of soiled shorts, but the truth is?  They just didn’t stink.  My house doesn’t smell.  I’ve even had someone ask me how we can manage to have such big dogs and a house that doesn’t stink.

“So in the future,” I asked, “you are going to put the dirty underwear in the laundry room and tell me about it, right?”

“Right,” he said.

“Because that is totally gross,”  I said.

“Okay,” he said.

“I’m not going to be mad at you about dirty underwear, but if you hide it again I will probably be mad,” I said.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

“Mom?” he asked, “how is it again that women get pregnant?”

“And that,” says Tewt the Newt, “Is what this story is about.”

6 thoughts on “But That’s Not What This Story is About

  1. 1. I hope this post will be around for his future bride to read. How thankful he will be when he eventually discovers what you’ve shared with the world.
    2. I would love to be privy to the progression of thoughts in his head which led him from his “baptized” undies to the reproductive process.
    3. Boys are gross.


  2. Sylvia

    I’m chuckling… because I’ve been there with the skid-marked undies of a young boy. :\ He had serious constipation. You wouldn’t have known it, because I just thought he wasn’t wiping well, but it was constipation. And, I hope you don’t mind a complete stranger sharing some thoughts on poo. 🙂 I never knew a washing machine could swoon! Cool! (Except when you need it to be working…)


  3. kathleen

    I’m still laughing, for so many reasons, all of which thanks to your literary and dleivery skills – have you considered standup comedy?:
    1. Tank boy’s diversionary tactic is too perfect – that boy has a future.
    2. dirty shorts behind the door – takes me way back to potty training my 2nd – yes, constipated kids can “leak” skid marks, esp. as they struggle to control the situation….
    3. fainting appliances – all too true, in this overly computer-controlled world. Long power-free resets are the best medicine – just like taking a good nite’s sleep…do it all the time at the soup factory too. Enjoy your holiday!


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