Random odd thoughts from this crazy old cat . . . .

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Washing Electronics or A Primer On How to Piss Off Your Sweetie

You wouldn't dream of letting a child play with a loaded gun.  Come to think of it, you wouldn't hand anyone a gun without proper training.  Then there is that small percentage that should NEVER touch a gun no matter how much training they've had.

I've gone over the whole scenario repeatedly.  I don't know where I went wrong.  JWL pointed out that it was Friday the 13th.  This could be much larger than Friday the 13th.  I had nightmares about it.

I woke up like every other day, went to work, around 8am they decided to cut hours.  Not a problem.  I'll just go home and get my housework done.  Drove home without incident.  Sprayed down all the fixtures in the bathroom.  Dusted the bedroom and stripped the bed.  Remove pillows from bed.  Take off pillow cases.  Put pillows and bedspread in basket.  Remove flat and fitted sheet.  Carry sheets and pillow cases into basement and  arrange in new washing machine.  Fiddle with settings.  Add soap.  Grab vacuum on way back upstairs.  Scrub and polish bathroom fixtures.  Vacuum bedrooms and hall, working my way down the stairs.  Rest the vacuum while dusting the living room.  Vacuum living room.  Sweep and Swiffer new kitchen floor.  Run back into basement, remove wet sheets from washer.  Throw sheets in dryer.  KLUNK.

Whoa, whoa, WHOA!  Sheets do not KLUNK when you throw them in the dryer.  What the hell?

I open the door and start grabbing pillow cases, flat sheet, fitted sheet.  What's this?!?  Wrapped in the corner of the fitted sheet.  Unwrap . . . untwist . . . .hmm, hmm, hmmmm.  Oh no.  Nooooooooo!  This can't be good.  Electronics + water = DEAD REMOTE!  But wait.  Maybe it's not as bad as I think.  I take the poor little thing back upstairs and point it at the TV.  Click.  TV off.  Holy S**T, it worked.  I'll just tuck it back into it's little remote home (the night stand) and let it dry for a little while.  Maybe no one will notice the bubbles and water squirting out when they press a button.

I head back downstairs to play on the computer the rest of the afternoon, secure in the knowledge that a major crisis has been averted.  The Teen gets home from school and busies himself on the good computer.  The cat saunters over to the corner to snort some cat pot and hunt pink and green "mice."  Honey comes home and asks where we are going to dinner.  We are just about to go upstairs to change into proper dinner attire, when a voice from above yells, "Hey, the remote is not working!"  Followed by, "It seems to be leaking something."

What to do?  What to do?  Do I blame it on the cat?  The cat, trying to amuse himself in cat prison, swats the remote off the night stand three feet away into his water bowl.  Then realizing the gravity of his actions, puts it back on the nightstand.  I'm thinking they aren't going to fall for it.  Oh hell.  I might as well fess up.  My reputation with laundry is legendary.  It's just one more story everyone else can laugh about.

"Um Honey?"  Then the rest of it comes tumbling out of me at lightening speed.  "Idon'tknowhowithappenedbutIwashedtheremote.  I'm sorry I'll buy a new one." He's not laughing.  He's cradling it's lifeless body in one hand.  Visibly upset, he removes the soggy batteries.  "Maybe it just needs new batteries," he pouts.  He puts in dry batteries and presses a few buttons.  Squish, dribble, nothing.  He turns it over and smacks the button side against his palm (remote CPR).  Still nothing.  "I guess we'll just have to run to Walmart for one of those universal remotes," he says.

We get dressed, head to Walmart, and pick out a new remote.  We settle on the twenty dollar remote figuring it has to be better than the eight dollar remote.  Then we head over to Red Lobster where we have a half an hour wait for our table.  He drags me to the bar to ply me with liquor so I can tell him every traumatic detail leading up to the remote drowning.  By the second drink, we've drowned our sorrows over our beloved remote, and Honey is starting to snicker at the whole tawdry story.

I don't know if we were just over full from dinner, or those two drinks went straight to our heads, but the new remote is nothing like the old remote.  You now have to go through this long involved process for turning off the TV.  Two buttons now instead of one.  Then you have to be in range.  No more than three feet from the receiver.  God, you practically have to get out of bed to turn the TV off and on.  Then if the room is dark you have to get up and turn on the light to see where the new buttons are located.  I can see this just isn't going to work out.  I'll be calling Dish Network on Monday to see if our old remote has a twin available.

It should now be common knowledge that a washing machine in the hands of Catty is a dangerous dangerous weapon.  Beware all fine washables and electronics, your days are numbered.


  1. OMG, LMAO! REMOTE CPR???? And you went to EVIL Walmart. I understand. Desperate Times call for desperate measures. Loved it.

  2. Hi!!! I found you! Don't know how in hell it took me this long! As for the washing machine....ew. Me hates it.

    Good to see you back in the blogosphere!


  3. Do. Not. Disappear. Come back Catty!!!

  4. No, dear, you wouldnt...
    yet, schools now are
    precisely that: dens of
    filth, precisely why you
    wouldnt letchoor child
    play with a loaded gun.
    God bless you.