The Bradys Got Nothing On Me
Until today I've always thought the term "panties in a bunch" was just some way of telling the uptights of the world that they needed to unwind. It turns out that panties can, and given a chance, will bunch. They'll damn near start a mob.
I was doing some laundry today (It's part of my personal battle to keep CPS and the health department from closing us down.
I also do windows). There was a loud noise coming from the dryer, a thumping that caused me to locate both boys to ensure they weren't wasting their day on spin cycle. They were fine. I ran to the dryer with the silent desire of finding a cat. One less cat.
No such luck. I found panties. And pants and socks and towels, all the colors of the rainbow. They were all wound up tighter than Dick Cheney at a press conference. It was as if all the clothing in the dryer had devised some secret plan of escape and had spent the last 20 minutes twirling and tying themselves into a makeshift rope on which to slide out the non-existent window. Obviously they hadn't thought it through.
I followed the tails of the rat king clothesline until I spied the culprit, a piece of elastic of unknown origin. It was caught tight in a crevice near the lint filter.
Tight doesn't do it justice. The damn clothes were so heavy and intertwined that I nearly dumped the whole lot. But I didn't. My wife wouldn't have believed my story and instead believe I was just cutting corners in favor of laziness. Not a bad idea, we have plenty of clothes.
No, I spent time (nearly 5 minutes!) unlocking the pieces and throwing hopeful glances for some sign of cat. No such luck.
I have no idea where the elastic came from. I suppose it will become clear when one of us finds our sweats around our ankles.
Until then, please heed the warnings, don't get your panties in a bunch. It's a real pain in the ass.