I hate laundry.
Nothing good comes from dirty clothes.
Last year, we had to buy a new washing machine. I soon discovered the crazy appliance trills an upbeat tune at the end of each cycle.
One day, I was walking past my husband when I heard the tinkling notes drifting from the laundry room. Muttering to myself, I stomped past him, attempting to ignore the newly residential mechanical maniac.
“What?” my husband asked, automatically.
I just glared at him.
Confused, he shrugged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said.”
A little embarrassed at being caught in my spite, I grudgingly repeated, “No one likes a happy washing machine.”
So, now, not only do I have to endure the trilling notes of success from a smug appliance, I also have to hear my husband chant, “Happy washing machine. Happy washing machine.”
At the end of every…single…cycle.
Nothing good comes from dirty laundry.
Or a supposedly witty husband.