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The woes of the under appreciated husband never end. The ruling society of women has, for generations, conspired against
their men and withholding well deserved praise is just a part of it. The one sock conspiracy which has been falsely attributed
to laundry elves could stand more examination. It is my experience that only the socks of me or my son are on the hit list.
My wife and daughter are sympathetic to our dismay when only one part from a favorite pair of socks is found, but I am beginning
to suspect that their sad frowns and shaking of heads are more ruse than not.
Another myth is the last squeeze of toothpaste
rule. There is always a little more in the tube my wife will claim as I desperately pinch and twist the obviously empty tube,
my brush pressed against the aperture ready to absorb one more bit of paste. While sweat was beading off my cramping and shaking
hands I spied in the mirror my daughter pull a full tube out of the drawer and slap a generous helping of cavity fighter on
her brush. She tossed the tube in back in the drawer, gave me a wave and bounced back into her bathroom. I realized that once
again I had been duped.
But the worst of this vast Wife Wing Conspiracy is the ho-hum thanks for truly heroic action.
I noticed the other day that there was a large cooking pot on top of the clothes washer. In the pot was a large rock filling
the pot and providing a considerable amount of weight. Being an intellectually minded man, I began to analyze the purpose
for this addition to the laundry room. I came up with a few possible answers but then remembered “This is the laundry
room,” which in man speak translates to “Strange new world with customs not our own.” So I asked her “Yo!
What’s up with the rock in the pot?” I was not prepared for the amazing answer I got.
Here is “Laundry
101” for men. In order for a washing machine to keep running the lid needs to be closed. This is so the little pin under
the lid will force the “Lid Closed” sensor down, thereby telling the machine that all is well. It turns out that
a few months ago our washer started acting up and the act of closing the lid was no longer enough to force the sensor down.
Direct pressure to the lid was required to move the machine from “Fill” to “Wash” mode. I am still
unclear about what the different modes mean for the machine, but I suspect they are all very important to the process. So
for a while my wife would have to listen to the machine as it progressed to the “Wash” stage, rush in and slam
her hand on the lid. If she missed the timing on this then all of the water would drain without ever entering the “Wash”
stage and the process would have to be repeated.
Then things got worse. As time when on more and more force was required
to nudge the machine along, and at some point continued downward pressure was the only thing that would insure a complete
wash cycle. At first her answer to this was the soap box. It was pretty heavy and was conveniently located in the area. Problem
solved, or at least until she found out that with each new cycle the box of soap got a little lighter. When the box became
too light to do the job she would toss the bottle of bleach on top along with the soap. This was only partially successful
because the vibration of the machine caused the bleach to slip off the machine. Enter the Rock in a Pot. Placed strategically
over the correct portion of the lid, the pot was a constant source of weight sufficient to solve all of my wife’s issues
with the machine.
I finished my third cup of coffee as my wife completed the history of the Rock in a Pot solution.
My face must have revealed some of the inner fear I had about my wife’s problem solving ability because the conversation
turned defensive in a hurry. I made a quick retreat from the laundry room and sought some therapy from a manly application
of the X Box. After my center of balance returned and she had left for church I crept back into the dreaded room armed with
a Phillips screw driver and duck tape.
I examined the situation for a few minutes and discovered a loose retaining
pin under the lip of the machine. I replaced that (no tools needed, not even the tape) and gave the machine a test. Calling
my daughter in to help, we loaded the machine. I found out that not all colors of clothes go in at the same time, tossed in
some soap and we were off. We closed the lid and the little machine worked like a champ with no pounding, slapping or kitchen
supplies needed.
My wife returned later that day and I said “I fixed your machine! We even washed some clothes!”
Her reply was “Oh? Thanks.” This was not at all what I was expecting. The woman suffered for months and I rescued
her from the dreaded washing machine lid, and all she says is “Oh? Thanks.”? Once again the WWC had reared it’s
ugly head and slapped down a heroic act of husband-hood. The next time I see something like this I should just let her suffer
instead of using my incredible powers to assist. But something about her smile or laugh just keeps drawing me in for more.
I noticed a can of corn wrapped in bubble wrap behind the patio door. I wonder what that is all about.
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