George does the laundy around here when he's in town. I've never been good at it (hint for all married women--screw up his underwear a few times and he'll bump you to the side in the laundry department). I'm not patient enough to do good laundry. I think grey is a nice color. I don't care if blues aren't bright and white's aren't blinding. So I tend to separate into threes: Whites, Darks, Lights. If it dosn't fit one of those, it goes into to its closest cousin's load.
George on the other hand sorts by hues. Blues/greens, red/pinks, yellows/beiges. The lint in the dryer looks like a single crayola crayon when he's done. Not like my lint. My lint is generally grey.
So today I decided to wash a few throw rugs he's had downstairs forever. I figured he didn't know what hue was best, plus rugs are dirty, so he was probably waiting to wash them all by themselves.
So I washed them.
That wen't well.
Then I put them in the dryer.
That didn't go so well.
I was drying my hair after taking a shower, the laundry humming along downstairs, Jenna painting in the living room. I thought my hair dryer might be on the fritz--smelled kind of like burning hair, then burning cloth. Oh well. I turned it off and sprayed some leave-in conditioner on, got dressed, and went down to check on Jenna. I noticed the burning smell getting worse. Oh shit.
Down the basement steps I flew into the laundry room. No smoke but DEFINITELY a baaaad smell. Opened it up. The lint tray was overflowing. The dryer seemed no worse for the wear.
So I shook the rugs out and brought them upstairs. Checked the dryer over well. I got there in time. No harm done. Except my pride. And except for one throw rug that shrunk from 4'x2' to 2'x1'. It resembles a dish towel now. I bet if it had a tag, it would say Line Dry or something.
So that's why he never washed that rug.