Picture this. Easter Sunday morning, bright and early. The sun is shining and the sky is a gorgeous cornflower blue. There are mountains of sheets and blankets waiting to be washed.
A man and a woman are sitting on a verandah, happily sipping coffee and munching on chocolate bunnies.
There is a zap, a clunk, and a terrible burning smell. Coffee and chocolate are abandoned. The sounds of running feet and raised voices break the morning silence.
The washing machine blew up. The rotten washing machine blew up, on Easter morning, in the middle of washing an Everest of dirty linen. It blew up on Easter Sunday when every appliance store in the country is CLOSED.
Have you ever washed and wrung out five sets of sheets and blankets by hand? It’s not pretty. I now have forearms like Popeye. Big achy forearms.
Now picture this. A big, fat, grumpy ginger kitty wants kitty-dins. He wants them now. Not in five minutes time. Now. He climbs up on his human’s desk, thinking that purring and being cute will do the trick, and he knocks a tall glass of red cordial into one of my fabric bins. The WHITE fabric bin.
There was only one thing to do…