I really couldn’t find a better title, because really – irony just sneaked up from its dark corner, ambushed me, kicked me swiftly in the nuts and stomped on me for the past hour. The reason for the ambush is horribly simple: Around 2 hours ago, I write a post about me not having much to write about, with the ironic shorthand title “r.a.g.e.” (really, read the post before continuing, it’s fun at the expense of my misfortune). Not more than one hour later, irony strikes…:
I was down getting this evenings second batch of clothing from laundry, and while staring at the machine timer spending the better part of the fifth minute displaying “01” (the infamous copenhagen minute – no, I’m not kidding), the machine stops with an error – the display at least said something like “E 01” – just before going into the ending phase, that flushes the water properly. The result…? Clothing (t- and sweat-shirts) that was utterly soaked after being in a laundry-machine for 1 hour. And by soaked, I mean that would’ve probably contained less water than if I had tossed all the clothing into the ocean, and fished it back up again. Way too soaked to even consider the tumbler, in any way.
So, the punishment from irony was the following:
- Carrying the tub filled with soaked clothing back to my room (water is heavy),
- Spending that past hour twisting the clothing into semi-dry, so I could put it on my poor (now horribly suffering from overweight) drying rack (soaked sweatshirts are also heavy).
- Fingers looking like I’ve spend that hour happily playing in a bathtub or swimming pool.
- Rage. The non-happy version.
As a closing statement, I would like to add: “Oh Irony, thou art a heartless bitch!”, as only Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory could’ve said it.