It's after 11 pm on Super Bowl Sunday and Dan has driven off into the cold, foggy night, in our rental van, a huge dripping pile of wet clothes in tow, in search of a 24 hour laundromat. It seems that Stanley, our clothes dryer, has had a malfunction, and is no longer capable of producing heat, which we discovered this afternoon, when the enormous load of darks the boys were in charge of washing yesterday came out of the dryer still wet, even after several cycles. Apparently they stuffed poor Stanley tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey with every pair of jeans and every dark shirt they owned. Whether or not the overstuffing contributed to Stanley's condition has been a hot topic of debate around here. Because you know, blame must be assigned at all costs. And all the laundry drama follows the excitement of last night, when Dan was up until the wee hours cleaning up dog diarrhea off the carpet. Maggie had some sort of serious gastric distress late last night, and before anybody discovered what she was up to, she had stepped in it, and tracked it all over the family room. Then, after church this morning, we were greeted with a lovely pile of dog vomit, again on the carpet. In spite of all that, we still managed to pull off a mostly sanitary, non stinky Super Bowl party, which kind of makes up for the fact that Dan has definitely drawn the short end of the stick this weekend in the nasty chores department. I should be nicer to him, I guess.
And the car? Well, the car is most likely getting totaled. I was all for fixing it, but we can't be sure we can get it fixed for what the insurance will pay. It has other problems too. Like, running for instance. It does run, it got us all the way to Disneyland and back just last September, but you can tell that it's heart just isn't in it anymore. It would rather not be running. It hates to idle. The scary red engine light comes on and goes back off on a regular basis. the brakes squeal and grind terribly, even though we have been told they are fine. It smells gassy after its been running. I don't know. It's a tough call. All I know for sure is that next time there's an ice storm in Utah, I'm staying in bed.
And that was just the first weekend of February. Looks like it's going to be another rock star month at the Metcalfs.