How My Socks Get Dry
Almost every day, I sit down (because my balance isn't that good) and put on a pair of socks. Unique among garments, in my experience, socks absolutely must be tumble-dried in order to be wearable. No amount of mere hang-drying will ever render them quite arid enough to comfortably wear for any length of time. I had, at one point, purchased a shiny white GE electric dryer from Sears that did the job nicely. It's gleaming alabaster drum was lit, and it even had a buzzer that was noticable but not alarming, that told me when it was time to retreive my fluffy, dry socks for folding (of all the things to fold in the world, folding warm socks is my favorite). Alas, it had to go in order to make room, both physical and budgetary, during some rough times several years ago.
My socks still get dry, though, in a far more roundabout manner. My dear Christina's ex-husband's mother's ex-husband (may he rest in peace) takes care of it. At some point in the early 1980's, in Dallas, he bought an ancestor to my old dryer. The years progressed, load by load, cycle by cycle. It's owner passed on. His wife and her son both found mates and homes in Austin, leaving the old house empty, and the dryer unused. The younger couple inherited the idle dryer; when their marriage faltered, she got the appliances. A bit later, I, despite my manifold shortcomings, got her.
The drum is not lit, nor is it alabaster. The buzzer could wake the dead, if we ever used it. That's not necessary, though, because whenever the dryer is in use, it squeaks continually, sometimes loud enough to drive us from our home. We know the load is done when we can think again.
Soon, though, we will have no more use for it. Our new home uses gas for heat, and we'll need to buy a compatable dryer, lest my socks remain damp. Since noone has paid a cent for this dryer in over 20 years, we don't think it would be right to start now. Look for the old warhorse on Craigslist in a month or two, probably in the Free section. Perhaps a nice deaf couple could use it.
My socks still get dry, though, in a far more roundabout manner. My dear Christina's ex-husband's mother's ex-husband (may he rest in peace) takes care of it. At some point in the early 1980's, in Dallas, he bought an ancestor to my old dryer. The years progressed, load by load, cycle by cycle. It's owner passed on. His wife and her son both found mates and homes in Austin, leaving the old house empty, and the dryer unused. The younger couple inherited the idle dryer; when their marriage faltered, she got the appliances. A bit later, I, despite my manifold shortcomings, got her.
The drum is not lit, nor is it alabaster. The buzzer could wake the dead, if we ever used it. That's not necessary, though, because whenever the dryer is in use, it squeaks continually, sometimes loud enough to drive us from our home. We know the load is done when we can think again.
Soon, though, we will have no more use for it. Our new home uses gas for heat, and we'll need to buy a compatable dryer, lest my socks remain damp. Since noone has paid a cent for this dryer in over 20 years, we don't think it would be right to start now. Look for the old warhorse on Craigslist in a month or two, probably in the Free section. Perhaps a nice deaf couple could use it.