Sidenote: I wrote this a long while ago, but it amused me at the time and amuses me still. This is a prequel if you will, a time long before I met ManCandy. It’s bittersweet to remember so vividly a time before Dad was gone, but the event was funny nonetheless. Ironically enough, I’m wearing the same yoga pants and glasses tonight. Enjoy!
I attempt to do stuff. It’s a disaster. I am surprised. The cycle continues.
Allow me to explain. I moved into a new place a couple months ago. There was no slinky looking vent thingy for the back of the dryer. Apparently, the moving monsters take mine every time I move.
So. The padre and I get one from Lowe’s and have a long discussion about the particulars of attaching it. We got a super long one. Heavy-duty ass-kicking shiny slinky vent thingy. We were proud of it.
Got back. Now, just in case you are one of the fortunate who hasn’t had to actually visually see me….I’m not a small person. Nothing pixie about me. Clumsy + fluffy = small space disasters. BUT. The dryer is in a corner IN a closet with a shelf right above it (say shoulder level on me) with the water heater tank on that. And so I crawl back in there (not gracefully….more like a planned fall into a crevice) and Dad walks me through how to get the heavy-duty ass-kicking shiny slinky thingy on. This involves a lot of him standing around saying “Put the thing on the other thing with the thing and turn the thing so it stays on dammit!! This isn’t difficult! What are you DOING!?”
I eventually differentiated between the “things” he was speaking of and got the damn thing on while contorted so that my fat ass didn’t knock the plug out of the wall and simultaneously tightening the “thingy” around the other “thingy” and attempting to live without air. So, long story short, I get done, flop out like a fish on the bank of a pond, and listen to a lecture about needing to lose weight while I gasp for air and try not to kill people.
Fast forward to this week. I notice my dryer isn’t really drying anything. It’s more of a tumbler. Which doesn’t really help anything. So I have a flashback to Padre’s comments about the slinky thingy not needing to be too doubled back on itself or the air couldn’t get through right or…something. And I have this flashback while I’m looking at the slinky thing that is doubled back on itself 987981623 times because we got the long one.
So. I get the bright idea to cut the slinky thingy to a shorter length so that it wouldn’t bend. It would just be a gentle curve. Plus I’d be able to check for blockages better that way. Right? Genius. So I get my girlie toolbox out (the padre apparently felt color coordination might improve my odds of not making a mess of things….silly darling little man) and keep my cell phone in case of an emergency. I flop around till I land in the crevice again, and I hack the shit out of the shiny slinky thing.
I enjoy this part. I also don’t remember slicing fingers up hurts. So. I did that some. But, whatever, I got the hose cut to exactly the length I wanted.
And then it hit me.
The dryer had to come back farther to reach the new and improved short slinky thing.
I had nowhere to go. I had a moment of total shock. Then I tried out multiple combinations of curse words. I started to haul the dryer back and tried out some more curse combinations.
I am now pressed between the dryer, the wall, and am basically standing on my head to reach the vent. Might I also point out I’m not particularly flexible? I fall over trying to do yoga…so it’s not my friend. But I digress.
The “thingy” that sticks out of the dryer is supposed to fit inside the slinky thing. Well. When I hacked at the slinky thing it stopped being a perfect circle. I had to hammer and wedge and beg and pray and scream in frustration for a good 10 minutes before I got the slinky thing on the dryer thing.
SUCCESS!!! Oh I was excited. It worked!! Who cares if I can’t breathe! I don’t need any help!
But then the next conundrum hit me.
How was I going to get out?
Remember. I’m in a closet in the corner and the dryer is less than a foot from the wall and all of my Amazonian self is stuck back behind it. And there’s a shelf RIGHT above me. And a washer beside me. And no Dad to help haul me out. I was starting to take back the not needing help thought.
Now I’m going to paint you a picture. I’m wearing loose yoga pants and still have my glasses on that don’t fit (I sat on them…several times….don’t judge me).
I decide to just go head first and kinda….dive out. But when I “landed” I’m kind of beached across both machines. My feet are tangled in the electric chord. The back of the washer and dryer has the tall part for the knobs. The dryers tall part is jabbing my crotch and rendering me unable to have children. The corner of the washer is doing its best to remove my right boob. But my feet are tangled, so I can’t get away. No matter how I moved I was being molested/assaulted by machinery.
I manage to kick out of the cord and start to slide off the front of the machines. ALMOST FREE!! Until I caught one foot on the damn cord again trying to kick my way forward. I’m now stuck from my shoulders and up hanging off the front of the machines, one foot flailing wildly, and one caught.
My glasses fell off.
I try out curses in other languages.
I notice the cell phone was flung across the room in my flailing about.
I just hang there for a bit contemplating my life.
I manage to get one arm back far enough to let me lift up a bit (muscles!! I have muscles!! Whoda thunk!) and move over enough to get the trapped leg out. I’m dizzy, and my pants are trying to fall down (while I’m upside down no less…quite an accomplishment in epic failuredom). I can’t see anything, including my glasses.
I eventually just fall over. Onto my face. And lay there trying to avoid dog kisses.
I landed on my glasses.