(My laundry room!***)
Having a washer and dryer in my basement is one of my favorite things about the new apartment. Six months in, Peter and I will still looking at each other while folding a giant pile of towels and say, "Can you believe we washed these in our house?!" After four years in New York that involved hauling a giant bag of dirty clothes down the street every week, this convenience still feels very lucky and posh (though I realize most of you have been enjoying this modern convenience all along!).
Yesterday, my washer tried to betray me and test my love, like a teenager pushing its boundaries for the first time. Half way through a load, the hose connecting the water to the machine sprung a giant leak, and water sprayed violently all over the basement, covering boxes, artwork and furniture. Peter ran some key belongs upstairs, turned off the water and started mopping everything up (I was at the grocery store. Great timing, me!). For most of the afternoon, we mopped and sloshed through it, while our landlords speedily fixed the leak.
I put a second load in that afternoon, to make sure the fixed hose was in working order (it was!). Washing machine, my love for you still burns strong, even if you tried to betray me! As punishment, you must hang out in a damp basement and think about what you did.
***Not my laundry room at all, you guys. Via Martha Stewart.)