Anyway, here's a problem with having your washer and dryer in the basement--a basement only accessible via the outside bulkhead: It will be covered in snow. And ice. And more ice. And then some more ice.
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| I WISH my bulkhead looked like this! |
You will find this out when you have a basket of laundry balanced on one hip. You will try to break it with the heel of your boot, the shovel, your steel-trap mind. If ice could laugh, it would be laughing at you. Ice is mean. Mean like the mean girl at work who gets inordinate amounts of pleasure from telling on you to the higher-ups when you have a work gaff. Or makes up stuff when you don't have a work gaff. (I know I'm always saying we should be kind, but we are all free to wish a pox on this girl. The universe will NOT be mad at us. I pinky swear.)
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| That's an appropriate use of ice. Keeping me from my washer and dryer is NOT. |
Not up for pox-wishing? How about wishing ice on her bulkhead (metaphorically) because she doesn't have a swell guy like The Chef, to whom I've put out a call for help. No, not the "Come break my ice" (heh heh) kind of help. The "Can I use your washer?" cry for assistance. I may have padded the request by waving fresh oysters, clams, and scallops in his direction. This may be a successful ploy.
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| See the face the lady's making? That's me. See how happy the waiter is? Quadruple that and you've got The Chef. |
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