I believe everyone has a fake name they go by when they get tired of their own. You know you’ve either done it or thought about doing it. Switching it up a bit, just for kicks. My mom’s is Wanda. Mine is Shelly. What’s yours?
I had a huge surprise when I opened up my washing machine last night. Since I had done a once over on all my dirty clothes in the bag before I dumped them into the wash, I wasn’t expecting to find anything out of the ordinary. Well, I was wrong. Very wrong.
When the buzzer sounded, I forced my body out of bed (I have the flu) and walked outside to my backyard to move the clothes into the dryer. I thought my fever had gotten the best of me when I opened up the dryer to find a familiar face staring back at me. ARDY?
There he was, sitting on top of the wet clothes, totally spotless. Clean as could be.
Ironically, he had been due for a bath for quite sometime now, but I don’t think I would have ever gotten him as clean in the bathtub as the washing machine got him. He looked brand new! (Except for all the writing on the bottom that had endured the wash thanks to Sharpie.)
But although I was pleased that Ardy was so immaculately clean, I was still perplexed as to how he got in there. None of the clothes had pockets that he could have been hiding in and as I mentioned, I double checked the bag for odd articles. I guess it will just have to go down as one of life’s big mysteries, right up there with Tupac Shakur and the Universe.
I don’t even want to think about what the outcome would have been had I found him in the dryer.
Rubber melts, k?
Anyway, the washing machine story is just an example of how weird things have gotten for Ardy lately.