| Category | Pickups |
|
|||
| Created | 2013-11-19 | ||||
| Owner | jobyukhve | ||||
| Title | moncler usa online | ||||
| Description | moncler usa online "To be safe, I used separate dryers for each color." The urban mythology goes as follows: If you are male, you can change spark plugs, barbecue a steak with your own special sauce, and mow a lawn without killing any family pets. What you can't do is laundry. At least not to any female's satisfaction — wife, mother, girl friend, or receptionist. You can fix a washing machine, but you can't use a washing machine — something to do with color, or delicacy, or fabric, or all three. It's part of the SisterHood strategy of keeping men off balance and confused, but that's another topic. Contrary to common belief, males are born with a clothes-washing gene, but its growth is stilted, being located next to the more aggressive beer-drinking gene. If a man attempts to do the laundry — say as a present for Mother's Day, or a surprise for his sick wife, or because his football-watching shirt walked out of the room on its own — one of the following things will happen, probably all. • White clothes will acquire a foreign tint (the term "pinko" was given to men who did their own laundry and was only later applied to communist sympathizers who did their own laundry). • At least one sock will disappear, forever. • A natty sweater will come out imitating polyester while the other clothes will acquire small pieces of forever irremovable lint or, as I prefer to call them, design accents. Yesterday I set out to puncture this particular feminist balloon; it was time to do my laundry. I determined this by applying the criteria I used in college to decide when it was time for my laundry to visit my mother: all my clothes were in a pile, none were in my bureau. I set my VCR to tape the football game, introduced the dirty laundry on the floor of my closet to the dirty laundry on the floor of my Jeep Cherokee,moncler womens vests sale, and drove them both to the Laundromat. Okay, how hard can this be? Put clothes in a machine and push some buttons. Men and Machines — lock and load. As I jammed my entire wardrobe through an 11" porthole, I thought, women complain about this because they just don't understand machines. You have to be the boss, the alpha male. Machines can sense fear. I stared at the washer without blinking. Three dials stared back. Three degrees of difficulty, like a knight's quest, and I was up for it. The first dial was captioned, "Temperature: Wash/Rinse". My choices were "Cold/Cold, Warm/Cold, or Hot/Cold". Even I know hot water washes best. The second dial read, "Load Size: small, medium, large". Do they think I fell off a truck? Small is always cheapest. I dialed it in. Two down — so far I've got hot and cheap. The final dial was trickier, concerning as it did,moncler women coats, fabric types. I know khaki, I know denim, and I know cotton, the only one of my three on the dial. This is a field in which I've had no formal training. But who needs training? I just need to apply some male mental prowess to this baby. Let's see ... "Hand Washable" is out. Duh! I'm using a machine. "Delicates" would be for wimps. Aha, "Wash 'n Wear"; that's what I intend to do, that's my choice. I dropped in a quarter but, a second before I pushed START, a nagging phrase floated to the surface of my mind - Color Separation. Shoot! I looked around. It was 11 PM and the whole bank of washers was empty. The place was mine. I pulled all my laundry out of the washer. This took time but mastery requires doing it right. It's a Zen thing. The reds go in the first machine, blues in the next, two green shirts in the ... wait a second, is turquoise a shade of green? Better not risk it; turquoise gets its own washer. There are two cashmere sweaters in the pile, but different colors; each goes through a different porthole. I traded in dollar bills for a bunch more quarters,moncler man, pushed all the START buttons and settled down with Maxim magazine. Twenty pinups and twelve dirty jokes later, all the machines stopped. The wash done, I put my clothes in the dryer. Or, I should say, in the dryers as I wasn't sure if the color separation principle continued from washing into drying. To be safe, I used separate dryers for each color. The dryer dial was complicated but I settled for "Auto-Dry Miser (high heat)". Hot and cheap, my new mantra. Two hours, and $67.75 later, everything was clean and dry … and tiny. My basket looked like I'd just finished doing the laundry for an entire Smurf Village. Little People's Goodwill took it all and gave me an $1800 tax receipt ... except for the turquoise cashmere sweater, which I gave to the girl next door for her Chihwowwow. Dumb dog, but she's hot and ... well, let's just say she's less expensive than the Laundromat.-###- | ||||
| Consumption | |||||
| Broken | Yes | ||||
| Price | $ 50,000.00 | ||||
| Promotion level | None | ||||
|
|
|||||
Please register or log in.

