Because denial is my name and my game and also the name of my game, I like to pretend things are adventurous when really they are lame.
And now I sound like Dr. Seuss.
My marina has a small laundry room. SMALL laundry room with 3 washers, and 3 dryers. My marina must have a couple hundred boats. Three machines can be hard to manage at times. It gets tricky when somebody decides to do more than three loads. Hellish is more the word for it, but Dr Seuss would never use such a word.
On with the story!
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who believed she was big and strong. She loaded up all her foul smelling clothes, and the big red sheets from her bed into a big bag. She strapped this big bag over her shoulders.
“I don’t need a cart,” said the little girl as she stepped on her tippy toes to hop on her bicycle. Off she went down her dock. She loved hearing the crickety-crock of each piece of wood. At the end of her dock she realized it was low tide in her part of the world.
“Low tide means a really steep hill to get to land,” the little girl wanted her readers to know. “Low tide also means it’s hard even for us big girls,” said the little girl “especially with oodles of laundry on their backs!” added the little girl.
She stepped off her bike and pushed it up the ramp, and carefully guided her bicycle through the heavy steel door stepping beyond her kingdom. In her mind, this ramp was her drawstring bridge. Below it loomed monsters, and mucky creatures.
Little did she know,
Editors note: the little girl wants you to know she’s aware of the cliché of this saying, but she wanted the narrator to use it, actually it’s part of the contract between the main character, who pays the bills, and the narrator, who has no backbone.
Little did she know, that monsters and mucky creatures loomed everywhere, not just under her imaginary drawstring bridge.
The little girl happily made her way to the laundry room, playing pretend dodging of the wolves as she slalomed through the parking lot. She chanted “la-la-la-la-lalala-laaa” as she ignored the plugged up toilet in her castle, and forgot about the computer that loved to crash.
Her Prince Charming was in a land far-far away doing his mightiest to replenish their treasure chest. The little girl was facing new challenges, and-
Editor’s note: we need to re-direct the story and stay focused.
She finally arrived at her destination, and jumped off from her bike pretending it was a horse. She saddled her imaginary horse on its kickstand and strode into the dark laundry room.
She walked past the Wicked Witch, Laundra Matty, and made her way to what appeared to be an empty machine. As soon as she opened the door to the washer two things happened instantly:
- Clothes fell out of the machine.
- Laundra Matty bellowed “Get out of there, don’t you dare touch that, and take your hands off my clothes!”
The little girl stumbled, she didn’t want the mean lady’s clothes to fall to the dirty mucky ground filled with invisible creatures, she did her best to push the clothes back into the void. “What did I just tell you? GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY CLOTHES!” said the evil devil.
“I’m sorry,” said the little girl “the machine looked empty.”
“Don’t you even try!” Growled the horribly wicked Laundra Matty.
“You don’t have to be mean about it,” said the little girl, who walked outside as she made herself as little as possible to better avoid touching Laundra the Wicked.
“Oh THAT wasn’t mean!” Answered Wicked.
The little girl stepped out and sat on the curb. As she waited, she wondered, and she counted the imaginary sheep knowing if they didn’t put her to sleep at night, surely they should entertain her as she waited.
Years and years later, and hundreds and hundreds of sheep later – or so it felt to the little girl, the wart covered monster of a creature stepped out of the laundry room “Two machines are now available.” she announced as she looked down upon the little girl.
The little girl laughed in reply, she did that when she was nervous and had nothing good to say. “It’s what Mommy always told me to do, because if you’ve got nothing good to say…” she thought as she piled and pushed her soiled clothing deep into the dark void of the machines who willingly swallowed everything she fed them.
Editor’s note: that was a hell of a long sentence, we do apologize, the narrator gets caught up in the action sometimes.
Out of the laundry room the little girl sauntered. On her way again, she made herself very small and kept her arms to herself avoiding any possible contact with the dreadful Miss Matty. One never knows if one is infected with the rage, or other deadly viruses. The little girl hopped on her imaginary horse, slalomed through the imaginary monsters in the parking lot, and remembered it was low tide.
“Low tide is much more fun when I’m going down the ramp!” Said the little girl to nobody but herself. Zoom she flew down the ramp. Crickety-crockety-crickety-crockety cried the boards of wood as she rode her steed down her dock.
Once safely back into her kingdom she asked the toilet if it was now magically fixed. Silence was the answer. She lifted her shoulders, and immediately dropped them again, and dove into the magical world her computer offered her.
Amidst crashes and freezes, she bolted up, looked at the clock and realized it was time to return to the laundry room. She had already forgotten about the vile old foul mouthed Laundra Matty. Silly little girl that she was. She hopped on her horse, crickety-crockety’ed down the wood planks, and then attempted to forget the low tide on her way up the magic mountain to regain land. She smiled as she slalomed through more monsters and demons only to be greeted by a growling and ferocious Witch of the Laundry Doom.
The little girl dodged past her as she shielded herself with her smile, maybe a snicker escaped her lips. Entering the dank and dark room she realized every dryer was in use. Again she sat on the curb and counted sheep, and mountain lions, and prayed upon wizards for wisdom.
“How foolish of you to offer me your smart ass laugh and leave me alone with your clothes!” said the big bad ghastly and gruesome Laundra Matty. This made the little girl shiver with fear wondering if some poop had been dropped in with her hopefully April-fresh smelling clothing.
Editor’s note: holy crap this story is long! There are more words than there were counted sheep!
The little girl started counting c-words, and b-words, and every other letter words she wished she could scream from the top of her lungs. But she kept quiet for fear of future visits to this room, and future encounters with the dreadful and horrendous Wicked Witch of the Laundry Doom.
The moral of the story is: when in doubt wear red. The Little Red Riding Hood was, after all, the only survivor.