If loaded with anything heavier than socks, my old washing machine rocks and vibrates alarmingly. As soon as the spin cycle starts sqeeking and crying I rush to the laundry room and hop up on the washer to calm it and prevent bolts screws and water mains from flinghing out in all directions.
I am pleased with preventing mayhem in the laundry room. But for the time being, I have nothing to do.
I don’t want to dismount until the spin cycle finishes but the only thing to read are the instructions on operating the new ironing board my husband recently purchased in a fit of generosity.
I think again that I should stash a notepad and pen next to the box of Bounce.
Thus armed, I could jot down a laundry themed haiku or trenchent observations on the daily grind of domestic duties.
But by the time all this gets organized in my vibrating brain, the spin cycle is finished.
And all my planning disappears as I hop off the washer and load the dryer.