My Dancing Washing Machine.

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My Mum is a mad quilter. They really are a special breed right? She has fabric all over the place and is always pulling together some gorgeous thing for friends. She made me the most beautiful quilt, queen-sized and in all hues of whites and creams.

Anyway, it lost in a jumping on the bed battle with muddy football boots (shakes fist) and needed to be washed. I have a 9 kilo machine and new that it would be up for such a task. Plus, the day was positively SHINING outside.

Later, from the other side of the house, I could hear that the machine was not enjoying this particular ride. By the time I got to the laundry, the door had closed. I flung it open, yet it only flung 9cm as indeed the mashing machine had gone for a little walk across the floor and the door was now fucked. In the sense that it was closed and the machine was stopping the door from being opened. But you know what I am trying to say so I shall stop re-wording these sentences and get on with it.

The machine started beeping in protest.

Now I am not sure about you, but when white-goods, or anything for that matter, start beeping at me, I get stressed. And you know something, everything beeps these days. Microwave, fridge, oven, dryer, washing machine, car. It is any wonder the rate of people suffering from anxiety is on the rise?

The beeps got sadder, and more desperate. As adrenaline flooded my body, I drew on some super human strength that I didn’t knew I had and was able to move the washing machine back a few centremetres.

“If I get just get my shoulder through…” I thought to myself. So I shoulder barged the door.


It pushed back just enough for me to be able to put my entire felt arm in the gap, and pushed the machine back enough that I was able to open the laundry door!

Making no sudden movements, I flicked that bitch off at the switch.

I moved the washing machine back into it’s rightful place and cautiously opened the lid.

What had happened, of course, is that the giant quilt had got itself all worked up into a sopping wet ball, and had caused the machine to have a conniption and bought about it’s (much warranted) tantrum. I had to muster up added strength to try to untangle it, for suddenly it weighted a tonne. Eventually, after much exertion and a few swear words, I was able to redistribute the quilt back into the drum in an even way. I lowered the lid and flicked the power point back on, where it sprang to life, with lights flashing up and a merry little song was emitted. As if nothing was ever wrong at all.

I advanced the cycle to spin, as I just wanted it done and had already exerted to much stress and energy on the whole situation. I kept a very close eye on the machine, just in case it wanted to launch across the floor again. Eventually, she finished her whirling and beeped at me, telling me that the ride had finished.

I pulled the quilt out of the machine and into a basket. I opened the back door to see that the sunshine had gone, replaced with grey skies that were spitting the beginning of a torrential downpour that proceeded to last all day.

“Shakes fist again!”

And that is why my living room was turned into a Chinese Laundry.

The End.

Has an appliance that was intended to make your life more convenient, ever done the exact opposite?

Got a fucked up fridge? An irritating iron? A bastard bbq?

Do share!