Life was so simple back then.
If some article of clothing, or household linen, got dirty – mussed in some way or even stained with the tears of mine enemies – the queen could simply toss it into her top-loading beauty, add the necessary chemicals, turn the dial and magically this machine would erase all traces of every transgression in thirty minutes.
But these are dark times for the Kingdom.
The washing machine hath vexed even the noblest of repairmen in the Shire. It hath brought them to their knees, and coaxed forth curses muttered under sweaty breath as one by one they try to best it and unlock its wizard’s secrets.
Day by day and hour by hour the machine sits quietly and patiently awaiting the next challenger.
Who among the realm’s repairmen can tame the terrible beastie?
Today a new challenger shall enter the lair, and take with him the hoped-for miracle that will once again send the castle into realms of clean socks, clean undies, and clean towels.
The occupants of the castle light a candle and pray the machine is bested, lest the queen be forced to enter the other dragon’s lair (also called a ‘laundromat’) and do battle with numerous beastly machines that steadfastly refuse to dissolve detergents properly or dry clothes without a mound of coins being fed to them that would rival the national debt for all of Ankh-Morpork.
The last trip the queen made to this terrible place did not end well as the vicious witch of the southerly winds grabbed and clawed at her freshly-laundered and folded clothes as she struggled to place them in her carriage for the trip back to the castle.
Much muttering of unspeakable curses upon all who would vex her so was heard, and the menfolk of the castle did tremble…except the cat, he simply one-eyed the ruckus and went back to sleep.
I fear further outbursts from the queen may involve breakage of nearby objects, and so I light a candle myself and ask the gods of electricity to be kind to the noble Repairman of the Whirlpool today.
The whole of the Shire doth wait with baited breath…
And by “that” I mean get back to my self-absorbed, selfish, vain attempts at ‘Net notoriety.
Today, go here, and read all the way to the end of the comments.
Pay attention to what “Bitsy” says.
And then tell her, and Mark (her husband), that it’ll be okay.
Or it won’t.
Because it won’t for a while.
A long while.
Give them hugs, give them some love, and then tomorrow we can get back to our regularly scheduled bullshit.