Keeping the missus happy

So I'm walking back from the pool the other day, towel over head, staring at my feet trying to avoid the dog poop in the grass. I look up to see a washing machine at the bottom of our steps with a little note taped to it: "FOR LIZ".
This was a quite a nice surprise in itself, but was even more surprising was how excited I was for it. I guess this means I'm quite thoroughly domesticated as the sight of a brand new washer/dryer will now apparently break me out in profuse thank-yous, kisses and you're-the-bestest.

It's true, for the past year and a half we've been doing laundry at the local Dime-A-Load. --Which I'm going to heartily recommend to anyone who wants to take years off of their lifespan due to frustration-related mini spasms. Much as I liked hauling bags of dirty sundries to their fishbowl sized appliances and attempted to stuff a weeks worth of baby, work, and summer sweatwear into their well worn tubs. Cleaning out the gorilla hair packed into the dryer filters and the invitations to "laundry room drink parties" held by middle aged men still wearing their Alpha Kappa Phi t-shirts from their "glory days".

All this is nostalgia at it's finest but thankyou kindly, I'll pass and kindly thank you Seth for surprising me yet again for another swell surprise. So if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go break this bad boy in. (machine, not man)

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