Sometimes I feel like someone should wear an “I’m With Stupid” shirt and just follow me around my house.
When I moved in I couldn’t figure out in which slot I was supposed to put soap in my washing machine.
Proof that other people are as dumb as me? Maybe, but sometimes I like to pretend I have a relationship with Google and he understands me. I mean, he just knows what I’m about to type next.
At the very least I can take pride in the fact that I wasn’t asking Google the third option, where to place my soap dish in my shower.
But get a load of “Chelley” who took it upon himself to answer a question on Yahoo! about which slot the soap should be put in:
“if this is a brand new washer: READ THE INSTRUTION MANUAL
if it is second or the manufacturer did not put a manual in the box ( it happens) the one marked “II” is for your detergent…. liquid or powder….. the one with the flower is for fabric softener and the one marked with “I” is for you prewash detergents….
I hate people like this.
1) If there was an instruction manual sitting around, I probably would have made use of it. 2) Oh, I bet he thought he was so freakin’ cool when he wrote “doing laundry for 18 years.” Congratulations on being an expert in laundry washing.
I hate Chelley and I don’t even know him.
Last night I did this:
See that little dark spot under the radiator? Yep, that’s butter.
I gave myself a nice smug pat on the back for being so well organized and buying butter for my cookies at 10 am during my lunch break that morning so it would have time to soften by the time I got home.
By 4 pm it still hadn’t softened, so I thought “Oh, I’ll just set it on this radiator for a couple minutes.”
Twenty minutes later I scream and run over to the radiator to find my butter desperately trying to maintain its block form. Much of the butter had drained through the foil packaging and into the radiator, dripping into a lovely puddle on the carpet. I immediately grabbed it without thinking, and butter dripped all over my socks and into the kitchen.
The house smelled like butter because there’s no way I know of to wash the inside of a radiator, and I’m not about to Google that and see what else Chelley has to say.
You know how I said the secret ingredient to making good cookies might be love? Well, it’s not. The secret ingredient is being smarter than Forrest Gump. And me.
Maybe I’m being unfair to myself. I should blame this on my co-workers. Every time I try to make something for the office disaster strikes big time.