This lovely morning, as I settled in with my coffee to write the mighty return of the Reluctant Housewife, my washer started acting up. Lights flashing, suds building, water rising, non-responsive to fevered button pushing...
I guess it's starved for attention.
I'm not saying Pete wasn't doing laundry while I was away. It's clear by the hanging shirts in the bathroom, that he was keeping up just fine. However, I doubt very much he was doing a load (or more) a day.
So now the washer, obviously desperate for attention and some TLC, is taking a time out until I have the time and patience to load another bundle of clothes in and watch as it freaks out again. Because before I call customer support and dish out a service payment I have to exhaust all the 'troubleshooting' advice in the manual. This could very well mean manually emptying the sudsy water when it fails again and rinsing the sudsy clothes/towels whatever in the tub again.
I can barely stand to think of it.
But before I tackle the washing machine I am working up the patience to wait in line at Royal Mail in order to send off our last round of Christmas presents.
Deep breath. AAAANNNDDDD GO!