Happy Anniversary Dear Dryer, Shopping for a Suitcase and a Hat, & Souvenir by Julie Chevalier
Happy Anniversary Dear Dryer
.Finding an anniversary gift for you is harder than number nine on Mr Mohs' hardness test. Auntie Google suggests a sapphire, but where could you wear jewels when you're bolted to the tiles? Dangle a star sapphire earring from your stainless catch hoping to impress the laundry tap? There must be easier ways to make a drain laugh.
As the truest tumble dryer in the west, you deserve more than a gold embossed telegram from the royal granny reminiscing about the time she gave her heir six pounds fifty for a down payment. That dryer (by appointment to herself) tumbled thousands of royal cloth nappies, while commoner babies had to make poo in electric blue disposables. But you hold the record, dear dryer — forty-five years of service.
The social pages can kiss and tell about clogged filters, tissues, the click of jean buttons against steel, threats of litigation vis a vis the shrinkage of hand knits, a surfeit of sunshine, global drying and cloudless redundancy. Let's turn the heat up to heavy duty, toss in some softener, and invite friends around for bubbles! A wrinkle-free celebration for the wrinklies. Beer in the bathtub for the rusty exes: Washie, Westie, Sam, Electro, Fish & Pikey.
Shopping for a Suitcase and a Hat
She needs a suitcase she can store in a tiny wardrobe. A place to keep summer clothes in winter, winter clothes in summer. She needs to shrink several sizes to wear clothes small enough to fit into it. KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON will read the miniature luggage tag. Like World War II in London, before suitcases with wheels. She packs a bespoke raincoat, a flannel nightie, a spencer and witches britches, knickers and a singlet, two housedresses. Takes long haul flights wearing her cable knit cardie and wellies, clutching a leather valise. An umbrella that never collapses. From the plane window Australia looks as brown as a camel. What will look dashing with the aviator helmet for evening in the underground shelter?
Ollie, the clerical, gave each of us a fabric wrap called a furoshikia the day he returned to work after his hols in Japan. Different graphics on each. Cheerful navy and chartreuse dots polka around on mine. I could hardly wait to get to work the first few mornings after that. The accountant used her wrap to dust the ledgers. The PA tied hers to her shoulder bag. Ollie wrapped and knotted lunch in his. Mine became a mat under the plant on my desk, a dracaena. I was part of a team.
Our contracts weren't renewed at the end of the financial year. The accountant, PA and project officer were told to reapply for their jobs but at a lower level with less pay. Ollie and I were let go.
Dracaenas are sensitive and suffer leaf damage if the temperature falls. The boss noticed the black leaves and said I was overwatering.
She went in her office and came out, I get to pick a whole new team. So exciting.
At home I dry my wine glass with my furoshikia. The polka dots have