I have a conundrum. Of the cleaning kind.
I live in a zoo, so the most important appliances (after my coffee pot - duh) are the washer and dryer. Our very survival as somewhat normal human beings depends on it spitting out clean clothes every week. It's what separates us heathens from the neanderthals.
The dryer and I are rarely on speaking terms. That's what you get when you buy the first "cheap" set when you move into a new house. It looked pretty enough, but the sensor dry function worked for about 5 minutes after we brought it home. Now it takes at least an hour and a half to dry a normal load of clothes. Don't get me started on jeans or towels.
So I guess I can live with drying a load of clothes a day for now, but I'm anxiously awaiting the day when it truly kicks the bucket, or the hubby is forced to use it and realizes how craptastic it is.
The washer on the other hand, does its thing pretty well. We had an issue where it would fill with water and stop. It took a call to a repairman to figure out it was our fat cat denting the lid in and tripping the sensor that says "wait, this crazy lady left the lid up, don't run or there will be laundry carnage everywhere!"
Not that I've ever loaded the washer, turned the thing on and walked away without shutting the lid. No way.
So the repairman adjusted the sensor so it wouldn't be affected by our 10 lb orange lump of a cat and the washer has lived a good life.
Too good. I share the princess's clothes with my friend and she is forever complimenting me on how clean they are. She wants to know my stain-removing secrets. Eventually (ie as soon as she reads this) she'll figure me out.
I don't have any secrets.
I can count on one hand the number of times I've used a stain stick in the last year. I throw clothes into laundry baskets and forget about them for days, dump them into the washer and only remember the stains when I pull them out of the dryer, clean.
Case in point: Last Thursday little man came home from school with a giant blob of blue paint on his polo. I declared the shirt dead, but of course it wound up in the laundry anyway.
When I folded it yesterday, the gosh-darned thing was CLEAN. BLOBLESS!
I am at a loss.
I may never be able to buy a fancy, front-load, water-saving washer. Clunky old Bessie is so loud, I'm pretty sure the neighbors can hear when it's laundry day. But there is no amount of poo, spit-up, poo, peanut butter and jelly, mud, poo, ketchup or paint that she can't handle.
But now about that dryer...