The dryer is broken. OK, it's not exactly broken, but something is burning inside the motor. It's only two years old, and the rocket scientist I'm married to decided he could fix it. (You can imagine me rolling my eyes, right?) So he opened up the back and then decided that he didn't want to mess around and I should call a repairman. Ya think?
So the repairman can't come until Monday. No big deal. I always have a clothesline going in the backyard, so I hung up two more and have been zipping through the laundry as usual. Yesterday evening I decide to do a few errands and leave said rocket scientist home with the kidlets. By the time I got home, it was pouring.
You guessed it. Three clotheslines full of clothes and bedding that WERE almost dry are now soaking wet. All because my husband cannot do two things at once - watch the kids (and it's not like their toddlers for Heaven's sake, they are 6 and 8) AND take clothes off the lines!
Why oh why are men so one-dimensional??? I didn't say a word. I just went out into the pouring rain and took down my soaking wet laundry. And then he wonders why he doesn't have any clean (or dry) underwear this morning....
