I murdered our washing machine.
It was actually the washing machine I got from my cousin when she moved because I had already murdered my old washing machine.
So Husband tried to fix it. Because whenever we'd turn it on, it wouldn't spin but instead emit a horrendously foul odor. (I like to compare the odor to that of a melted vacuum belt - because I'm pretty good at killing vacuums too, so it's a common smell here.)
Turns out Husband has no idea how to fix washing machines.
Luckily a guy in our ward does.
Unluckily, the washing machine was totally unfixable.
So now Husband is trying to fix the old washing machine. Because I told him about 5 billion times to get it out of our garage, so of course that meant it wasn't going anywhere.
And here's to hoping Husband can actually fix this one (or the guy in our ward- I'm not picky.) Because if it doesn't get fixed, I'm going to set up a donation button on my sidebar titled "Operation Washing Machine." But mostly because the only other option is heading to the river and beating our dirty clothes on rocks.
It must be my week to kill things, because yesterday I burned off about half of my taste buds. No joke. I'm pretty sure half of my tongue is dead.
I was too scared to look in a mirror so I asked Husband if my tongue was charred black and all sooty. He said that it looked pink to him and then he rolled his eyes. So I had to smack him. But it didn't even make me feel better.
I also kill plants and small animals.
Not this week though.
But never give me a frog. Because you're just asking for a funeral. I think my frog killing record is about 12 hours. As in, 12 hours after I got the frog, it was stiff and floating.
It's really a wonder my kids are still alive.
However they are running around naked these days. Because, you know, I murdered the washing machine.