The Washing Machine

As am I reminded of the car washes, I find the words car wash synchronous with the word soap, and that inspires me to discuss the washing machine. You see, in our house, my washing machine is conveniently located between the kitchen and garage, placed there so I would not need to climb the long steps to the basement to place a quick load of wash. Conveniently located that during the course of the day, I can do many loads of wash, as the washing equipment is just steps sway. So convenient...and,even more convenient for Peter.
When my second hand washer and dryer finally called it quits, I made a decision to go out and buy what I thought was the best, most convenient, top of the line washing machine, you know, the ones that are very popular these days, the front loading ones that require minimal amounts of soaps. That one. I am thinking this will be the perfect machine where I can place items on the top, or better yet, fold the clothes on the top as the top is no longer needed for entry. So thrilled with my purchase, my new Maytag washer and dryer arrived and I was in wash heaven. Perfect, I am thinking. Looks good, convenient...could life get any better?
In my search of this new machine, I forget one small item that would make a significant difference in my life...that machine, that pretty, cream colored, expensive machine's door, was at the perfect height for Peter to open. Most likely, not an issue when buying the machine, as previous to this new Maytag arriving, Peter showed no interest in washing...nope, probably could not get him to wash if you paid him. So, in my list of things I needed or felt were essential in a new washing machine, a front loader at Peter's height was not a concern. Knowing what I know now....top loader would definitely be the washer of choice...but who knew that Peter would add a new business of washing every item he found in the house when, I of course, was occupied.
This fancy machine was computer operated, no more knobs and dials...totally push button, and when the salesperson recommended the buyer protection package that costs half the price of the machine every three years, I bought in. My mind did go to Peter playing with these way to easy buttons, and, as he said, if the computer goes, that will cost you about $800.00. Peter insurance I am thinking. So every three years, I bought, and now have paid twice the amount for that machine! However, the dials, although of interest, were somewhat intriguing to Peter, not just as intriguing as the act of washing itself.
He found a new activity which has kept him and me occupied since the day my new found friend, the machine entered the door. The one thing Peter just could not comprehend, was the amount of soap needed to wash. Remember Mister I need a whole bottle of Dawn to wash a car, well, Peter maintained that Mister I need a boatload of soap to wash clothes. No hiding of Tide, explaining how much to use, nor any method of constraint could convince Peter that if he decided to wash, he needed small, that would be minuscule amounts of soap. Peter always made a decision to use as much soap as he deemed necessary. He also maintained the fine art of sneaking in a wash while one eliminates..if you know what I mean.
I distinctly remember one fine sunny day, when I came downstairs and heard the machine going, only to roll my eyes, and understand what had just taken place. By this point, I had come to accept the event and move on with my day. I, remaining in the kitchen, detected an unusual sound emitting from from my friend the Maytag, it was as if that machine was suffering from severe gastric distress...the whirling and the churning that was taking place was painful to my ears. I approached slowly, entering the small laundry hall, hoping to analyze and solve the problem. I had much to do that day, so a quick fix was in order. But, to what to my eyes did appear, I really needed the Christmas clock at that point playing a small round of Jingle Bells, as the washing machine, as if it was vomiting, has expelled gargantuan amounts of fine white tiny bubbles. Mounds of white puffy soap was filling the room, so much, that I needed to make a pathway to the machine. Winter soapuds, in the middle of summer right there in my laundry room. Never experiencing such an event, I was not quite sure where to turn, what does one do when Frosty the soap man is melting all over ones floor and building knee high piles of soapsuds in the process. Walking through the piles, I turned off the machine, and than made a grave mistake... I opened the door, the front end loader door where the rest of the machines "stomach distress" lie. The machine, with the door open, removed the remaining soapsuds that was causing so much pain and that soap landed on me and the floor. I, standing in knee high soapsuds, was now covered with bubbles. I, now, have a one to one experience with Frosty as that was who I momentarily appeared to be.
Do you know how long it takes to get rid of soap bubbles? Do you know how long it takes to get the soap out of the clothes that were in the washer before they can be replaced, only to be washed again?
Things changed that bright sunny day. Deanna got a call, and spent the afternoon cleaning the laundry room. As for Peter, he thought it was great fun, there was nothing so exciting as seeing the machine spew the soap, it equated to an automatic door experience, a hand wringing, squealing with delight experience. Oh, to be so easily entertained! I, on the other hand, needed to dig deep that day, to see the immediate benefits of entertainment one derives from a washing machine experience a gastrointestinal event!!