I cautiously peeked out the window and saw no one. But the knocking not only continued, it got much louder and faster. In fact, it sounded like someone was beating on the side of the house with a baseball bat.
I worked up the nerve to stick my face out the backdoor. And that’s when I saw that my washing machine was trying its best to break free and run away.
Apparently, it was eating a couple of my throw rugs for extra energy.
“OK, it’s obviously off balance, just like its owner,” I whispered as I hurried to save the day. “I will just rearrange the rugs, and everything will be alright.”
The lid was locked.
By this time the washer was humming “Born Free” and lumbering toward the stairs.
So I splattered my body in front of it.
“Wait,” I yelled, as if the appliance had a rational mind. “Just wait a minute.”
But the washer had a mission. The tighter I hung on to it, the more it shook. I was definitely getting a headache from being jarred around like a rag doll.
Finally, I figured out how to unlock the stupid lid. Inside, I found my rugs in pieces.
“Alright,” I sighed. “I get it. You have your limits. And the limits involve items where people wipe their sandy feet.”
Because I still can’t lift, pull or push with my arms – due to breast cancer recovery – I turned around and used my hind end to shove the washer back into its home. Thank goodness I finally discovered a good use for my big old barn-door-sized butt.
This week a mini-crisis occurred when I got out of my car, shut the door behind me, took a step toward my doctor’s office and was yanked back into place. Why? Because half of my skirt was still in the car. I had shut the door on most of the fabric.
My second drama occurred when I tripped over the box fan extension cord and kissed the side of a wooden chair with my face. When I went to bed that night I tried to brace myself to greet a big black eye the next morning.
Some of my readers accuse me of making things up. And sometimes I wish I could tell you that I absolutely make it all up. Sadly, it’s all true. I am a walking tornado just waiting to happen.
The majority of the time I don’t pay a bit of attention to what I should be doing to avoid disaster. And that is why I continue to tell people that I need a nanny (and a helmet).