The Final Rinse: An Encore

So Glooking Mass Lama is having weather problems again.

Now that she’s returned to her unit-dwelling life and the glory days of the Hills Hoist are over, she’s back to hanging her washing out on the balcony (shh, don’t tell the strata!).

Today she was trying to get the kids out of the house to an appointment when her oldest emptied a water bottle over the couch. After responding with a hissy fit and sulking calm words and rationality, she tossed the affected cushions onto the balcony to dry, carefully arranging them to ensure they would remove maximum sun (certainly not in short supply at that point).

She had the following conversation with herself as she did:
“It’s not going to rain, is it?”
“Nope. Not a chance. No clouds anywhere. Besides, you checked the radar earlier and it was clear.”
“Cool.”

Then she left the house (simple, really).

She thought no more of it until she emerged from the Fruit Store (where she’d decided to hold onto her tablet rather than pay nearly $300 for a replacement, even though it looks more like a banana than an apple now but is still fully functional) and spotted a fellow shopper carrying a dripping umbrella.

She tells me things got a little blurry at that point. All she knows is that she managed to get herself, the double pram with the uncooperative toddler and the sleeping baby in the ergo through the shops, across the road and up the stairs home in record time (which probably means close to 45 minutes).

Bursting through her door and onto the balcony, Glooking Mass Lama was confronted with an even worse sight – it wasn’t just her couch cushions drenched. The washing she’d hung on the line was receiving the Final Rinse.

As was the dry washing that she’d taken off the line that morning and left in the basket next to the airer.

Of course, to add insult to damp clothing, this happened the very moment she finished arranging soggy cushions in the kitchen:
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Well played, God. Well played.

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