As the Emergency Broadcast System has hopefully already alerted you, my washing machine died yesterday, and no it was not a drill. It’s an actual emergency, that’s why the signal you just heard was followed by specific instructions, etc.
Since I’m a square-jawed American who plays by his own rules, I sprang right into action once a replacement set of equipment was located – I went to Facebook and said, who’s got a truck for old Tommy C.?
And guess who showed up? Mrs. Steve Spangler Herself.
That’s right – it seems like it was just last week she was chasing me off her front porch with a rolling pin when I brought Spang home two days later than the hour and a half or so we’d indicated earlier. She was going all Andy Capp’s Wife on us – “You two goodfernothings! You spent my butter and egg money!”
Thank God I had my pogo stick – she could have killed me.
Anyway, she pipes up like she’s forgotten all about the dozen and a half blowgun darts her Amish Furniture Store employees shot into my butt cheeks while I was pogo sticking away. You should have seen the look on the pilot’s face when I came up over the hill.
Yes, and I do apologize, but for copyright reasons I had to digitally remove the pogo stick.
She says to me – get this – she says I have a moving van, but you asked for a truck. So long, sucker!
And I said you stay right here I’m going to go blog the hell out of this and then you’ll be powerless. Behold, SIX reasons why Spang’s Wife Melissa should help me pick up my washer and dryer:
1. Because if you send me and Spang we’ll just end up in a bar. A serious matter calls for some Wife Chaperoning, and I know that Mrs. Spangler-Gilmore-Picard wouldn’t set foot in a bar. She has her reputation to think of, thank you very much. So, that’s the best reason: You can’t watch your van and your husband all day long unless he’s sitting in the van. And if you don’t help me out, I’ll come get one and then the other, and pretty soon the mystic cycle begins again.
2. Because I Am A Celebrity. Like Marge Simpson’s high school boyfriend, and I am SO RESPECTED, that if I don’t get my washer and dryer today, it would damage the town.
3. Because You’re A Girl And Girls Don’t Know Anything About Moving. Moving heavy objects is Man’s Work – you wouldn’t understand. I’m frankly surprised that the van salesman let you drive a real moving van off the lot – what did you put it in Spang’s name or something?
In any case, Moving Van decisions are best left to the Men who understand them. That’s why you’re thinking, no, I’m drunk and I don’t feel like helping old Tommy C move stuff – it’s cause you don’t know what you’re talking about, you poor thing.
Just don’t worry your pretty little head about it, missie. I’ll do the deciding for you. All you need to do is clear off your afternoon and maybe get some gloves and a two-wheeler, and also your husband – I have a bad back and don’t really care for physical labor. I find it crass and boorish.
4. Your Mother-In-Law would dig it. Very true, you must consider that. Your stock would go through the ROOF. I happen to have it on good authority that you’ve already been booted out of the will – this could be your ticket back in. Don’t do it for me, Melissa – do it for yourself.
5. I am Amish. So, it’s kind of like we’re in the same gang. If any fools ever step to you, I will without hesitation whip out my jammy and flat blast them, in keeping with Amish Customs As I Understand Them. That goes for degrading ice cream cone attacks, too. As you know, the Amish Murder Code is very clear – I’m willing to put some suckers on ice for disrespecting you, so it’s considered obligatory at that point that if you have a van you drive me around in it. And Massey’s Pizza – the Amish are very specific about that, you’re supposed to bring a Massey’s Pizza with you since it’s right there down the road from you.
Let’s flip a coin to see who’s buying. I’m going to say tails.
It’s tails! YES! In your face, Melissa. See you in half an hour. No pineapple, for crying out loud.
6. I’m Handicapped, You Monster. I’m sure you think my physical disability is reeeeaaaallll funny, but I can assure you, anosmia is no laughing matter. It’s in fact one reason why I should never be without a washing machine. As a matter of fact, in fairness to me and my nap schedule, what you ought to do is just bring me your washer and dryer (I voted for Obama and he said I could have it) and then I’ll give you directions to where the other ones are, which you can then just pick up, take to the next place, swap out for another set, take that set home, and hook them up.
Easy Peasy. Zip Zam Zoom. I’m going to get my shoes on and then start texting you every six minutes until you’re here.
Oh, I need some detergent, too, and some dryer sheets and a gallon of your second least expensive tequila. Hurry up, too, I don’t have all day.
There. Now that ought to do it.