Blog From A Broad

the maytag repairman would have been happy to see me

Our washing machine broke over the weekend, but the earliest appointment we could get with the repairman was yesterday. It was getting to the point where Jack would have to wear a pillowcase and I'd have to dig my wedding dress out of the loft if it wasn't fixed soon. We were told that the repairman would arrive "between 9 and 6", so I dutifully stayed at home and waited. As it got later in the afternoon and Mr. Hotpoint hadn't shown up yet, I went next door to ask our neighbour to let the repairman in if he arrived while we were at our swimming class. Of course while I was next door, the repairman showed up. (Actually, I think he just rang to see if I was there because neither my neighbour nor myself saw anyone pull up to my house, but I digress.) He came back a few minutes later, in a huff, grumbling about having rang me four times. He dug around our washing machine, pulled out 12lbs. of dog hair and unidentifiable wads of something resembling blue Silly Putty and said to me, "Whatever that is, don't put it in your washing machine again." Thank you for your sage advice. Wankhead.

Just before we left for swimming, I decided to take the trash out to the bin, at which point the bin bag decided that it would be best if its top half and bottom parted company. On the way back from swimming, I was cut off by Mr. Whippy. The ice cream man pulled out in front of me, his big white truck blaring a music box rendition of an Abba song. I shook my fist at the world and curled up in bed with my happily babbling baby.

And to cap it all, we're out of pie.