Looking for a new mini manse last month, there were a few very important priorities I kept in mind. I wanted to stay within my zip code (which is the 90210 of Nashville – but don’t go thinking I’m a classy, rich gal – click here to read about how I manage to trash up the area – fabulously of course. My previous place was more on the Skid Row side of Nashville’s Beverly Hills…and now I scored a place on the outskirts – I’m so moving up), I wanted to stay in a perimeter where my favorite watering hole Dalts, delivers food (seriously, this is what I was considering) and I required a laundry area within the walls of my residence (THE HORROR of having to revert to coins and carrying dirty clothes to and from a laundry mat after all these years of being spoiled by having machines in my duplex).
While other folks who are moving consider school systems, safety of neighborhoods and the overall atmosphere of an apartment complex, I was worried about how close I am to my favorite bar, whether or not I can maintain my prestigious (in my mind) zip code and the ability to clean clothes in my new mini manse. Shallow much? (At least I’m honest). So you can imagine my delight when I signed a lease to a new place that met all three of my requirements. Now I just needed a washer and dryer…
My washing quarters fit snuggly in this cozy bathroom – which is probably about as big as a jail cell.
There was one teeny, tiny problem. As the washer and dryer I acquired from a friend at work sat on a truck in my parking lot awaiting their new home, my buddies moving me in didn’t think they would fit after viewing (and measuring – why would I have thought to measure?! Aren’t all appliances the same size? Being blonde is hard work.) the space. Mother f’er.
Enter Dad – the ever constant hero in my life. He did some research, found an alternative to a gargantuan dryer vent and remeasured to be sure that the twosome I longed for would fit into my naked laundry wing. Once again my work buddies (who are probably loving to hate me and anything having to do with the word move) came back with the appliances…carrying them down ten stairs, taking the bathroom door off its hinges to get them in the minute space and sliding them into their new home (zero profanity was used during this time).
They fit! Except now one of the f’ing doors won’t slide shut.
So problem solver Dad took the door off its hinges, which almost had me in tears, as I am OCD about things looking perfect. How could I ask company to sit on a toilet and gaze at my duct tape, modge podge, tools (I don’t know how to use) and dirty laundry?
Seeing the look on my face, my dad immediately realized the situation was dire (to me). I mean, look at the door behind the toilet…
Trying to avert the water damn about to break from my eyeballs (I’m typically not this dramatic but it’d been a tough week/month/year and this goddamn washer/dryer seemed like the world to me at that exact moment), Dad suggested I clean the junk up off the floor (while he cooled off with a cocktail) before permanently placing the dryer in its new digs – which ended up being a five step process due to the size of the bathroom.
I got a workout hoisting the vacuum up on the dryer just so I could slide myself into the room and shut the door.
Once the cleaning device was in, I had to climb on top of the washer (due to my overly ample derriere) to maneuver the nozzle on the vacuum in the corners of the floor. Who knew I was an acrobat?
All of that climbing and cleaning cleared my mind for a moment of clarity in this blonde brain. I can’t have doors on my laundry wing…but what about a shower curtain? Dad and I hopped in the car and headed for my mothership…Target.
After a quick trip and $30 for a shower curtain, rod and rings, my door problems were solved. No one was going to get to wonder what the hell is crammed in all of my closet bins while doing their business.
In all of three minutes, the finishing touches were accomplished.
All thanks to CBXB’s own personal Mr. Fix It.
Need your own laundry wing tweaked? I’ll lend this guy out – but it’s gonna cost you.