We need to talk. We've been together for years, but it's come to this. You see, there's something missing in our relationship. It's not me, it's you.
I give and I give and I give - clean, wet clothes to toss around and dry - and I get damp clothes in return. I clean your lint trap. I had Hubby check your vent to make sure it was clear. I don't use dryer sheets because my uncle said I was going to burn my house down. What more do you want from me?!
Maybe you don't understand where I'm coming from. I run a zoo. I have a husband. A son. A daughter. A cat. A dog. All of those beings make a mess of every single solitary surface in my house. I could clean from sunup to sundown daily and it wouldn't make a difference. Unfortunately, I can only put clothes in your neighbor and partner in grime, the washing machine. If I could put my poor, sippy-cup-leak-stained-fur-encrusted couch in there, you bet I would.
But I digress.
After almost 9 months of letting you have a go at every load of clothes twice, I've reached my breaking point. I spend the entire week washing, drying, drying, folding and putting clothes away to start the vicious cycle all over again. I can probably start using the sniff test on clothes to cut down on loads, but once warmer weather sets in and sweat, grass and mud become daily battles, that won't cut it.
Hubby is big on budgeting for the year, and he really didn't factor in kicking you to the curb in 2011. He thinks you should live a full, satisfying life that is LONGER than 6 years. I guess 5 if you count that you started sucking over the summer. I can only drool and visit your competition at Lowe's for so long before he can't stand it anymore. Just ask the dishwasher. Once it started running on its own, his days were numbered.
So shape up, Dryer. I don't know what RFM's Randy the Laundry Fairy has been telling you, but that guy is nothing but trouble.
I'll leave you with this.
Momma B
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