There
seems to be a great deal of discussion these days about the
similarities between men and women. For example, due to the
current winds of war that we are going through we are hearing
about the possibility of placing women in the military into actual
combat situations. We have seen women firefighters and police
officers for years, so the argument that they cannot perform these
sorts of tasks has long since passed. From time to time I still
hear men express some negative view that women just aren’t up to
certain duties and responsibilities that have historically been
reserved for men. Well, I’d like to offer a counterpoint to these
arguments and state without exception that I know of at least one
woman dominated function that men should steer clear of and leave
well enough alone. That is the complex operation of the household
washing machine. I don’t mean for this to sound trivial or as a
put down…this is serious. My wife has told me time and again that
I must not under any circumstances operate the washer in her
absence. Since I have never been to washer school and don’t have a
license to operate one, I suppose she thinks I am too stupid to
just pick this up on my own. Generally I leave the washing to her
since the tedious process of sorting, temperature selection and
fabric settings confuses me. However, just as old Adam was temped
by that apple, whenever my wife is out of town I am forever trying
something that invariably causes me a great deal of grief and
pain. Case in point….last week my wife had gone to visit one of
our sons and help him pack for a forthcoming move. I went down to
work on the sailboat. In rearranging some stuff that had been
stored I found several sets of rain gear that we hadn’t used in a
number of years. As expected they smelled musty and needed
washing. Like a good trooper I read the label and set the washer
exactly as directed. About 30 minutes before I was to leave the
house and meet another son for dinner, I pulled one of the rain
suit trousers out and was going to hang it outside to dry as
directed. In doing this something weighing about a pound fell from
the pant leg onto my foot and the floor in the laundry room. At
first I thought it was something that was in the pocket that I had
overlooked. But on closer inspection it seemed to be a large blob
of something resembling a cross between a crayon and candle wax.
It was blue, broke apart in a gazillion pieces and impossible to
pick up, mop up or vacuum up. I ended up carried what I could
outside, leaving a bright blue trail of the blue blob from hell
everywhere. Once I got the pants and tops inside of a plastic bag,
I could then start to determine just what had happened. Apparently
the insides of the rain pants had been coated with some sort of
waxy lining. Over the years this had turned brittle and when it
got washed all of this stuff had been torn loose ending up in a
big blue ball, which is what fell on my foot. Anyway, aside from
having this crayon candle wax on the porch, carpet and most of the
house, the real problem was inside the washer. The washer now
looked as if someone had poured about 20 gallons of candle wax
inside of it. Panic is starting to set in and I’m thinking I’m
dead meat if I don’t get this mess cleaned up in the next 24
hours. I start calling friends with small kids and elementary
school teachers to find anyone who knows what to do. Most of the
women I spoke to were sympathetic but asked me why I tried to wash
anything in the first place. Something I didn’t want to hear.
After several frantic phone calls I reached my oldest Aunt, who
told me to get some vinegar and run it though a wash cycle. Having
come from a family that believes if one aspirin is good for you
then 4 must be better; I proceed to dump 4 gallons of vinegar in
the washer. Lo and behold it all comes clean. Thank God. Now, I
spend several hours sweeping, mopping and trying to vacuum the
little blue spots that have managed to escape throughout the
house. If I do say so myself I do a fairly good job, except for
the waxy blue marks on the laundry room floor that I can’t seem to
get to come up short of pulling up the floor and starting over,
something I think she will notice when she comes home. Needless to
say, she has been home about 35 seconds before she discovers my
sinful nature and its effects. She marvels at how well I have
cleaned everything up and brought the place back to almost normal.
By this time, I am feeling rather proud of myself and just a
little smug…I have conquered the washer and any catastrophic
events rather well. Before I have time to let my smugness become
permanent…she looks at me and says..”Do you realize that the
vinegar probably killed the septic tank?” I refuse to accept this
fact and have spent the last several days flushing with great
trepidation. So far, so good. But I do believe that I am way over
my head when it comes to operating that washer. Men shouldn’t try
things that are beyond their level of competence. Comments go to
www.pearyperry.com
