Hello people! I hope each and every one of you are having the fun filled, chocolate covered, prelude to a sugar induced coma kinda Valentine’s Day that you do so deserve!


How old, unromantic and downright frumpy does it make me that I just want a new washer and dryer?

I know. Pathetic, right?

However, I am only moments away from being overcome by the odor of soiled linen. No, I don’t mean poop-soiled. Just soiled.

Our present set of laundry appliances is 12 years old… a combined age of 24. That’s older than my children.

I have treated them like gold and they are betraying me in a most unkind manner.  The washer only agitates with the bottom thingy and it appears the top thingy is now “just for looks”. Color me unimpressed.

It no longer spins fast enough to open a Downy ball. The ball is about half full when the load is done and as I retrieve it, fabric softener spills all over the “clean” clothes, making blue spots all over the stuff going into the dryer.

The dryer almost audibly laughs and mumbles something about not worrying since it won’t actually dry anything anyway. It’s not like it could make any kind of SET IN stain.

Then the dryer is started and the dogs run for cover. OK, me too. It squeaks, squeals and whines for about an hour on a medium sized load of clothes and then needs restarting.

Can you say “Energy Star”? Not at my house.

There is no longer any such thing as “laundry day” at Casa la HalfAsstic. It’s an hour by hour struggle that Never. Freakin. Ends. A constant, that rivals the Hundred Years War in monotony and probably lives lost as well.

Until now. Valentines Day will be my deliverance. SO HELP ME, GAWD!

So don’t preach to me about “romantic” until you can say what a lovely, freshly made bed I have and NOT have to avert your eyes from the damp areas and unsightly blue spots of fabric softener.