'I'm just going to unscrew this and see what happens,' Lloyd said, right before I took the picture. I was thinking, 'Ten bucks says I know what's going to happen; we're going to be spending the next month at the laundromat.' Turns out we had the soap holder set for powder instead of liquid, and somehow the detergent clogged the tube that funnels water and soap into the... what the hell is that round part where the clothes get all tossed around called? The tumbler? The barrel? Whatever, you know what I mean. Anyway, we started thinking about how strange it was that the clothes had been pretty dry after the wash cycle was complete lately. Say! Maybe it was because the water that was supposed to be washing clothes was instead making a puddle in the hall, you think? We then realized that the clean pile had been a little stinkier than usual, too.
He had the absolute gall to blame my homemade laundry detergent, simply because sometimes it has lumps, while I'm entirely certain his bad laundry habits are at fault. Seriously, you should see him. Oh, it gets done fast, but he cram-jams that thing so full that you can almost hear my crisp white button downs crying for mercy as they get crushed by filthy towels and jeans covered in fish guts. Dry clean only? Gentle cycle with like colors? Dry flat? Might as well be written in cuneiform. I don't complain, though. Not to his face. Because then I'd have to do it myself. NO THANKS. I just toss the things that get ruined and then hit the thrift store for more disposable clothes.
So, what to do? Generally speaking, which one of us is more brilliant is pretty much a toss-up. My ideas were to dump boiling water or vinegar and baking soda or Drano down the clogged line. Lloyd thought we should Shop-vac it or snake a wire down it. Since he was the one wielding the multi-tool, he got to choose, and he hauled the Shop-vac in from the garage. A few minutes later, voila! The washer was running good as new and I was feeling a little sheepish about my lack of faith in his plumbing skills.
Until I grabbed the Shop-vac to suck the water out of the carpet in the hall, that is. To my surprise and dismay, the hose ended abruptly with a ragged edge. The attachment that is supposed to be on the end was laying forlornly a few feet away. As it happens, the attachment wouldn't fit down in the well where the clog was, so he just sliced it off, leaving the ragged stump. 'Oh well', I shrugged, 'at least it worked, right?' 'Yes', he replied, 'but it might have been the boiling water; I poured that down there first.' All's well that ends well, that's what Ma Ingalls always says, and she's right. Lloyd can get right back to ruining my clothes and we can all live happily ever after. As soon as we get the Shop-vac fixed.