My shoulders sagged. My mouth was drawn, and tears filled my eyes. I sat cowering in the corner of my airline seat.
I would be gone only three days visiting a relative; however, the car was barely out of the driveway when my husband announced his plans.
“What are you going to do with yourself?” I lovingly asked my husband as he drove the car.
Coughing slightly, he whispered, “Move the washer and dryer out of the kitchen.”
My head jerked up, and my eyes flashed widely.
‘What! Oh no, don’t start any remodeling projects while I’m gone,” I pleaded.
But I knew it was too late. The look was there. As I sat in my airline seat, I envision what was going to happen.
I suppose I have myself to blame if I hadn’t been so vocal about the fact that some fool who designed the house put the most used appliance (the washer and dryer) in a 58 ¾ inch space inside a closet! In the kitchen?
May that person be cursed with a breadboard on top of their silverware drawer.
You see, for years, I had struggled with this dilemma. I was dragging the dirty laundry down the hall, squeezing it into the washer with naturally no place to put it after the dryer cycle but on the kitchen table.
Did this architect just assume that the kitchen table would be empty?
Architect, you are either naive on the subject of living space or think that games, toys, bills, mail, patterns, keys, and fondue forks have drawers with names on them?
Naturally, on my busiest of laundry days, the doorbell rings. I tiptoe to the curtain, peek through, and there stands Aunt Mable and Aunt Violet, who has never been to my home, and I haven’t seen in two years.
You know darn well that they won’t stop ringing the bell; they will be turning the doorknob next.
Of course, they will give you the obligatory “Don’t worry about your messy house, dear, we just came to see you,” as their eyes roam wildly about in fright.
Desperately, I swooped the laundry off the table (after kicking the table contents under the floor mat) race down the hall and fling the laundry onto my bed.
They don’t leave until 11:30 pm that night. Somehow, managing to keep them out of the bedroom exhausted, I collapse. Too tired to fold the laundry, I gently roll them on the floor where they mingle and mate with dirty clothes.
I realized the next day, to my dismay, I have to start the entire process again.
But now, the problem had worsened. My husband, the world’s handiest handyman – NOT! – was tired of hearing the whining and decided to do his favorite project – FORMICA.
This man learned how to apply Formica on toilet partitions during a part-time job in college.
He has had the fever ever since. We have a lovely array of colors on a Formica coffee table, sewing table, chest of drawers, closet door, and TV trays. I have no idea what wood looks like.
I had an inkling that removing the washer-dryer would leave a large (well 58 ¾ inch gap)in our kitchen.
What does this mean? I will tell you what it means. A total kitchen remodel!
Lucky, you say? Huh. I don’t think I will be seeing quartz countertops and oak cabinets. Oh no, it will be FORMICA.
CROCKPOT DINNER
Cooks all day while your husband destroys your kitchen into no-man’s land. You need a Crockpot.
Remolding? Get one soon.
2 lbs stew meat, cut in 1-inch cubes
¼ cup flour
1 ½ tsp salt
1 ½ cups beef broth
1 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1 peeled clove garlic
1 bay leaf
1 tsp paprika
4 carrots, peeled and sliced
3 potatoes, peeled and diced
2 onions chopped
1 stalk celery, sliced
Place stew meat in Crockpot. Mix flour, salt and pepper. Drench meat stir to coat. Add remaining ingredients and stir. Cover and cook low 10+ hours.