I walk into the kitchen, and what do I see?
Darkness, and a washer colliding with me.
Our washing machine died on Sunday night while washing Andrew's clothes. Thankfully, I had just previously finished my four loads of laundry. Andrew had to remove all his soaking clothes from the cold water and wring them out in the sink. The poor boy. Glad it wasn't me.
Tomorrow, a guy will be coming to look at the washer. He may repair it, but it would rock if they bought as a new one instead. Although then the old dryer and the new washer would no longer match, and I'd be sad. Anyway, I'll be the one here to receive the handyman [ugh] but Andrew apparently bailed all the water out tonight [after a week]. I didn't know this, or the fact that he left it pulled out of its little cubbyhole where it lives. Pitch black apartments can be a bitch.
Please don't comment on Andrew's awful paint job, or the fact that we never fixed it, or that there is still tape everywhere. Just shush.
Eventually, I used the kicthen for its intended purpose of good, rather than evil, and I made myself some delicious whole wheat English muffins with strawberry jam. Yum!