So, the washing machine was leaking. I couldn't figure out where for the longest time until yesterday morning. I'm in my pajamas and barefooted. No bra. Why would I break my momentum to go put on a bra?
I have to crawl up on the washing machine and finally see a drip come down from the hose connections on the back.
This should be a simple repair shouldn't it? Just tighten the connections and all is well.
No. Of course not. I had to unfasten the hoses and notice that the washers are just disintegrating. I'm thinking that I have spares somewhere but can't remember where.
And it wouldn't matter because the youngest just can't leave my things alone. So, I go to the garage in my pajamas, barefooted and braless to find hose washers.
I find my chisels with a big chip in the blade. Youngest.
I find my handsaws laying next to the grill rusted. Youngest.
I find an article on how to tune a weber carb and how to reinstall one. Adult ADD.
I find a broken wooden horse that was my mothers that I start to repair then remember that I'm really working on the washing machine. Adult ADD.
I find a rock hard half of a hotdog. Probably youngest but I can't rule out adult. Not ADD. Lazy.
Finally, I find the hose washers where I keep the sandpaper. I have no idea why or who to blame that on. On the way back to the house I step on three screws and 2 nails. Youngest.
Profanity is a developed talent. I'm fully developed by the time I reach the back door and then the mudroom. It's an art really. A skill not often appreciated by the people around you.
I get the hoses back on the washing machine and so far so good. I don't know that I could take on another "honey do" project because I'm running out of good cuss words.
I have to crawl up on the washing machine and finally see a drip come down from the hose connections on the back.
This should be a simple repair shouldn't it? Just tighten the connections and all is well.
No. Of course not. I had to unfasten the hoses and notice that the washers are just disintegrating. I'm thinking that I have spares somewhere but can't remember where.
And it wouldn't matter because the youngest just can't leave my things alone. So, I go to the garage in my pajamas, barefooted and braless to find hose washers.
I find my chisels with a big chip in the blade. Youngest.
I find my handsaws laying next to the grill rusted. Youngest.
I find an article on how to tune a weber carb and how to reinstall one. Adult ADD.
I find a broken wooden horse that was my mothers that I start to repair then remember that I'm really working on the washing machine. Adult ADD.
I find a rock hard half of a hotdog. Probably youngest but I can't rule out adult. Not ADD. Lazy.
Finally, I find the hose washers where I keep the sandpaper. I have no idea why or who to blame that on. On the way back to the house I step on three screws and 2 nails. Youngest.
Profanity is a developed talent. I'm fully developed by the time I reach the back door and then the mudroom. It's an art really. A skill not often appreciated by the people around you.
I get the hoses back on the washing machine and so far so good. I don't know that I could take on another "honey do" project because I'm running out of good cuss words.
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