The washing machine ruined our night

Those bad things always happen when you least expect them. Those bad things like the wolf yelling at your door to open up or he'll huff and puff.

Our house didn't blow down, luckily. Instead, it got flooded out. Thanks, washing machine. You're the best. You're not even old. I would understand the incontinence if you were old, but you're not. All that gushing flood was uncalled for.

Now, we've got about 10 dirty, wet towels holding your leakings, with no way to wash them. Is that irony? Cleaning up the water from your dysfunctional washer with no means to wash them? If I call it irony, I want to use it correctly.

None of us need me to pull an Alanis Morissette. So, I'll just let that pass.

What I won't let pass is my frustration for a ruined evening. I was working with Maeve's sit-stay outside, and once we were done with our homework for puppy school, we headed inside where Maeve forded the river that spewed forth from our washer.

I freaked out like any well-meaning adult would, and then I commenced with cleaning up your mess, washing machine. Luckily, we were able to empty out the water through the spin cycle, so we know that's not broken. But my clothes aren't really clean, since you didn't even get to the agitation part.

I take that back. There was definitely agitation, washing machine, just not the kind that cleans out the armpits of my t-shirts from white deodorant smudge. That's still there.

I mean, there was Tide. And Downey was thrown all over my clothes during the spin cycle, but are they really clean?

I'm thinking no.

And to make matters worse, I have to go see "Ghost: The Musical" tomorrow.