Life Worse Than Art

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post about life imitating art, and how I should have known better than to tempt fate by mentioning a flood in my home.  And lo and behold, only a few days later, Graham and a disgruntled toilet made that fear a reality.

Unfortunately, I didn't learn my lesson.

In an unusually esoteric post on Thursday, I waxed poetic about how, despite all of the things that can and do go wrong, I can always count on my love for my children to get me through the day.  And then I, demonstrating a blatant disregard for fate, went on to list the many things that can add stress to my life.

I should have added "my own stupidity" to the list.

After quickly typing out a line about my ever-failing appliances, I hit "post" and went about my life.  And less than 24 hours later, my washing machine gave up.  But fate couldn't make it quite that easy.  I didn't learn the lesson last time, remember?  So this time, fate would get its point across loud and clear.

I was two loads into a massive laundry session that I'd been avoiding for days when I heard the washing machine emit a very loud buzz as the nearly-clean clothes tumbled around inside.  But I didn't open the door for fear of flooding the laundry room with water (don't worry, my fingers are crossed) and let it complete its cycle.  When the time came to move the clothing to the dryer, however, I discovered that it was in lock-down mode and no matter what I did, the clothes inside were hopelessly trapped until Joel arrived home and unplugged the machine, turned it on its side and began performing mechanical surgery on the beast while water leaked everywhere.

Meanwhile, I was waiting for my friend Alissa to arrive so that we could have a much needed girls' weekend, so I ran the vacuum around in the guest room to tidy up.  As soon as I opened the door, it was clear that something foul had taken place in the bed since it was last used, and I pulled back the comforter to find that my adoring cat had peed in it to mark it multiple times as his own.

I ripped off the sheets in a panic, relieved that the issue hadn't soaked through to the mattress, but realized quickly that the situation was complicated further by the fact that I couldn't wash the sheets thanks to a malfunctioning washing machine. 

I dug around until I mercifully located another set of sheets that fit, tossed them on, and emerged from the bedroom to an even worse smell permeating the rest of the house.  As part of the attempted washing machine resuscitation, the tubing and pipes that connect to the sewer lines were exposed and a cloud of stink a collection of foul ooze joined the party.

You know, because things just weren't bad enough already.

But then, finally, a piece of good luck.  Joel and my Dad were able to extract a piece of wire from the innards of the machine that had jammed the pump.  When removed, things started back up normally, and when I returned from my movie that night, I was able to start in on the first of 14 loads of laundry, towels and pee-soaked sheets.

So maybe sharing my newly-learned lesson will invite more good luck.  Maybe it was my chastising that lead to this debacle in the first place.  So from now on I'll try to be more positive; Lord knows I could use the help.

Now if only the cat hadn't gone right back in and peed on the clean sheets...