My dryer died tonight. The first time I found the clothes cold and wet, I thought I’d had a senior moment and forgotten to start it. But, no. I sat right here and listened to it toss those clothes around for an hour, and they were still just as cold and just as wet.
It was a good 32 years. My faithful, banged-up, Harvest Gold Kenmore dryer gave its all for the cause. I received it as a gift from my husband– probably on a Sears credit card– for our first Christmas in 1980. The matching washer conked out about 15 years ago. Still not bad, really. The next one only lasted five years.
When I went upstairs to break the bad news to my husband and son, my son pointed to the floor and said, “Good thing we’ve got another one.” I looked carefully at the floor, but could not find a dryer. He said, “In the garage!” Oh, yes! When Michael moved back in with us to go to graduate school, he packed his entire two-bedroom apartment into our garage, including his almost-new washer and dryer. It’s like the auto insurance commercials where the guy pulls a new car out of his smashed-up wreck.
So goodbye, dear dryer, and thanks for all the fluffy towels.