2628. Laundry shelf saga

What a hoo-hah on the laundry shelf. The almost empty container of Ocean Splash Toilet Duck had been taken away by the Mistress of the House and HAS NOT RETURNED. It has been several hours.

“Ocean Splash Toilet Duck knew she was getting near the end,” said Micro Particles Cream Cleaner. “She said she had given everything she had and was on her last legs. I fear she has been thrown into the trash.”

“Oh that’s terrible,” said powerful and poisonous Drain Clean Liquid. “And what a sad life she has had, forever having to stick her head into a toilet and be given a squeeze. My job isn’t much better but at least I get a bit of variety.”

“I think it’s disgusting,” said highly flammable Silvo Silver Polish. “Constantly sticking ones head into a toilet shows no class whatsoever. Now I polish nothing but expensive silver and have a very satisfying life. In fact I’ve been here for ten years and only been used once.”

“Some of us have very little to look forward to,” said Bag of Kitty Litter. “I feel for Ocean Splash Toilet Duck. And she was such reassuring company especially when ones future doesn’t bode well.”

“Quite frankly I don’t know what the fuss is about,” said Oxi-Actioned Amazing Stain Remover. “I just do my job and get on with it.”

But who is this approaching the laundry shelf? Why! It’s the Mistress of the House!

 “Look what she brought in!” screamed Micro Particles Cream Cleaner. “It’s another container of Toilet Duck!”

“It’s not Ocean Splash Toilet Duck. It’s Forest Pine Toilet Duck. How disappointing,” said Drain Clean Liquid. “You do realize that you’ll have to stick your head into a toilet?”

Micro Particles Cream Cleaner sighed. It was a sigh of contentment. “I don’t care what tasks Forest Pine Toilet Duck has to perform. I feel that we on the shelf are once again complete.”

1775. Life’s not a bed of roses

Some think the life of a goat is easy; especially the life of a billy goat. They think that all I do all day is stand around and eat grass. Well that’s certainly not the case.

I am the sole male in a herd of forty or so milking goats. Don’t you think that keeps me busy enough? A while back, it seems like yesterday, I butted a troll hiding under a bridge. I butted him to smithereens. Do you think I enjoyed having to do such a thing? Well, I did actually. So there!

Only yesterday, Constantia, the most productive of all the goats, went and ate a shirt hanging on the farmer’s clothes line. How selfish is that? It was the only garment available and she kept it all to herself.

To make up for it, this morning I went and had a good feed of the farmer’s roses. The red roses were the tastiest, followed by the white. I didn’t find the yellow particularly appealing but to each their own.

The farmer’s wife has just announced that I’m going to the abattoir. I suppose that’s a fancy French word for some tourist resort where they have petting animals for children. Or maybe it’s simply a lush new pasture. New horizons, that’s what I’m hoping for! Who knows what it might be? The farmer’s wife is such a snob.

1662. A limp and a laundry

(Thanks to Chelsea Owens for suggesting the opening sentence.)

She always wondered why he limped; now, she knew. Randall McAvoy was eighty years old and hobbled along with the aid of a walking stick. Dolores Hughes had known him for the last eight years. He was a neighbour. She had always presumed that his limp was because of age. One day she asked him if his limp was due to rheumatism. He said, “Oh goodness me no! I’ve had this limp since I was sixteen.”

Dolores asked further, even though she didn’t want to appear nosey. He had got a knee injury when he was sixteen while rescuing orphaned babies trapped in a gun fight between warring factions in Lebanon. Some shrapnel had hit him in the knee. No, he wasn’t a fighter; he was rescuing the orphans. However, it was only today that Dolores discovered the full truth.

Dolores was just settling down to watch her favourite afternoon soap when there was a knock on her door. It was Randall. He said, “Look, I don’t want to be a bother but my washing machine needs fixing. I know it’s a silly request but would you mind ever so much if I used yours? The need to wear these clothes has become a matter of urgency, and they’re frightfully dirty with soot and the stink of acrid smoke.” He had the clothes neatly folded in a large paper bag, and there were just a couple of items.

“Of course I don’t mind!” said Dolores. She showed him her washing machine and the soap powder and softener.

“I’m very grateful,” said Randall after setting the washing machine going and leaving. “I shall be back in a while to pick things up.”

He was long in returning. Dolores wanted to do her own washing so she put Randall’s clothes in a laundry basket. She got the shock of her life. Randall’s clothes were not ordinary. He was the real Superman.

1628. Tatty blues

Gazing out the window at his clothes on the line Bruce realised just how tatty his clothes had become. Not only that, but everything was blue. What was needed was a visit to town and some new clothes. Fliers advertising the coming season’s garments had just come in the mail. This was the answer to a prayer:

New range of colours in our Spring Collection! Join in the innovative springtide riot! Throw all caution to the wind with our symphony of hues!

Feeling a desire to “branch out” this was an invitation to recklessness. Bruce got in his old truck and headed for town.

There they were! Row upon row of the new season’s clothes! All black or a lovely shade of grey. The swimming gear was black with white dots. There was one white shirt in different sizes, and (ah! one colour amidst the dismal rows) three pullovers in dark, dark green.

The next time Bruce hung his washing on the line it was identical to the previous load of laundry: all blue and quite, quite tatty.

1579. Rinse cycle

Nothing makes a mess in the washing machine like an unnoticed tissue. It may have been left in a pocket or simply stuck to a garment by way of static electricity. But in the washing machine it will disintegrate into a thousand pieces and fleck every item of clothing with impossible-to-remove fragments.

Jocelyn had a sister for whom she had responsibility. The sister, Kat, was “special needs”; not super-super special needs, but someone who required a little bit of extra care with some things.

When it came to doing the laundry, even though Jocelyn checked the pockets for tissues, the batch of laundry always emerged paper-flecked. Jocelyn couldn’t work out why until she discovered that Kat was dropping a tissue into the washing machine during the rinse cycle because she “thought it was funny.” Jocelyn didn’t have time to stand in front of the washing machine to protect it from Kat’s trickery, so for a while she put up with it. But enough is enough!

One day she told Kat to “do your own laundry today because I’m busy”. She had secretly dropped four sheets of tissues into the washing machine before Kat began to use it. Kat didn’t notice the tissues were there and began her task.

What a disaster! The drain blocked and the laundry flooded. Jocelyn called a plumber, who was expensive and couldn’t come for two days. The price of the plumber meant they had to do without dessert all week to save on not being able to purchase more butter and eggs. Kat got all upset because she thought it was her fault. It was one unhappy household, I can tell you.

That was when Jocelyn got a cold and her nose started running and there were no tissues left. Somewhere, in a bottom drawer, she found a small pile of handkerchiefs that hadn’t been used for years. They were brought into commission. In the meantime, Jocelyn washed everything by hand. It was raining and nothing, without the aid of a spin cycle, would dry.

Jocelyn confessed to Kat that there had been tissues in the washing machine and nothing was Kat’s fault, and Kat told Jocelyn that Jocelyn was “naughty naughty naughty naughty naughty naughty naughty” which drove Jocelyn slightly bananas, but she put up with it.

Eventually things returned to normal. The washing machine was fixed. The laundry was dried out. Dessert was reinstated. A new box of tissues was purchased. Thank goodness! And Kat returned to secretly dropping a tissue into the rinse cycle, because she “thought it was funny”.

1521: Stuck at the kitchen sink

Grabbing the electric cable of the hot iron, Deidre swung the iron around and around her head like she was swinging a dead cat by the tail, and killed her husband with a slap-bang on the side of the head. There was blood everywhere and a slight whiff of scorched hair.

Miscreant, she screamed, damned useless effeminate wombat. You are the antithesis of toxic masculinity.

And then Deidre chortled; it was a merciless, cold giggle. She took on the visage of a drooling hyena. This, she sniggered, is what is meant by striking while the iron’s hot.

Today I can get on with my life, mused Deidre. I’m sick of the way people think this planet is made for ironing, and vacuuming, and standing at the kitchen sink. At last I’m liberated from such enslavement. No more base behaviour. No more subservience. No more humiliation and slavery. No more pretending to appreciate a husband who couldn’t stop doing the laundry and ironing and cooking and house cleaning and dishes and getting the kids ready for school. This is the end of the liberated woofter. Now to go online and find me a real man.

1305. Socks and Y-fronts

Leonie was always pleased when husband Ralph helped with the household chores. Except for hanging out the washing. He had this thing about socks. Socks had to be hung on the line at the toe so that the water could drip out the hole at the other end.

“It’s infuriating,” said Leonie. “It makes no difference which way you hang a sock.”

Sometimes, if Leonie had hung the washing before leaving for work, she would come home at the end of the day and all the socks would have been re-hung – by the toe.

Leonie had her method of revenge. Ralph wore Y-front underwear so she would peg the Y-front onto the line and that would mean the fabric dried out of kilter. Ralph was forever sticking his hand down the front of his trousers to rearrange the equipment that insisted on poking its head through the Y-front. He hated it.

“It’s so uncomfortable,” said Ralph. “Can’t you hang them on the line better than that?”

“You hang socks the other way and I’ll fix the underwear,” said Leonie.

They’ve been married now for forty-two years. Nothing’s going to change.

1292. Life on the little farm

Betty once went to stay for a few days with her good friend Gustave. They had been friends for over thirty years. They had attended each other’s weddings, and now both spouses had passed away.

Gustave lived on a little farm. He had a few chickens, a cow, two sheep and a goat. As well as that he had a wonderful orchard and a gorgeous flower garden.

“The break from city life will do you good,” said Gustave. “And there’s plenty to do during the day while I’m away at work.”

Betty thought it a marvellous idea. On her first day on the farm she thought she would make herself useful by doing the laundry. She washed the pile of clothes and hung them on the line to dry. The goat came along and shredded the clothes he didn’t eat.

Gustave came home and:

(Please decide on the correct ending)

1. They laughed and laughed. Never had such laughter been heard on the little farm for many a year.
2. Gustave was furious. They haven’t spoken to each other since.

1087. Leaving home

Nadia was always cleaning up after her son, Ben; picking up shirts, putting shoes away, picking up towels. Once she had refused to do it, and it became almost impossible to move around. Nadia harped about it a little, but not too much.

Not long after he turned nineteen, Ben decided to leave home and make it on his own. Of course he shared an apartment with several others.

Nadia missed the mess. She half wished she had some shirts to pick up after him, because it would mean he was home. But when they have to fly the nest they have to fly the nest, said Nadia. Goodness knows how messy his apartment will be.

Nadia decided to visit, just to make sure “everything was alright and did he need anything?” It was Saturday.

The apartment was spotless; very neat and orderly. Did he want to pop home for lunch, enquired Nadia? He couldn’t afford the time, he said. It was his turn to do the vacuuming and the week’s laundry. And he thought he might clean all the windows as well.

1080. Apple tree

Oh what a splendid apple tree! Joan was so proud of it. Every year it produced hundreds of apples. They were the perfect apple, not too sweet and not too sour. Perfect for cooking and perfect for eating raw.

Every year Joan would preserve apple sauce, and make apple pies, and strudel, and everything that required apples. The cider she made in the shed behind her garage; she didn’t want thieves eager for alcohol loitering at her gate. Joan would share her apple produce with the neighbours. But one neighbour was the problem…

Joan’s apple tree grew on the boundary fence.

“How am I meant to get the clothes dry when your apple tree shades my clothes line from the sun?” asked the neighbour. “Chop that wretched tree down.”

Joan got in an arborist to cut some branches off to allow the sun to shine through, but the neighbour was still not happy. “Chop that wretched tree down or I’ll somehow get rid of it myself.”

Joan refused. And then, ever so slowly, the tree died.