So, many moons ago, Jeremy & I were gifted a lovely chenille throw. It is the snuggliest, softest, bestest blanket on the couch. It's a soft shade of mossy-silvery green. It has such a nice weight to it when draped across you. It stays cool so you can have it on even when it's not necessarily cold enough for a blanket, because I enjoy being swaddled pretty much all the stinkin' time.
And this blanket, it lived on the couch, and it was well snuggled. But eventually, as is often want to happen with things that touch humans, it developed The Funkiest Funk©. Our brave heroine tried to ignore The Funk. She tried to Febreeze The Funk. She even tried to blame The Funk on poor, unsuspecting cats & husbands.
But alas! It was no use! The Funk would have to be eradicated, and this... this required The Washing Machine!
Much like a child without his blankie, our heroine was distraught at the thought of having to go a whole movie without her favorite blanket... see, that's when our heroine does laundry--while watching movies, so she can both be productive in doing housework and sit on her tushie at the same time. It's an ingenious plan really, and you're welcome to try it at your domicile at any time.
So into The Washing Machine did yon blanket go.
And 'round and 'round did it swirl in a bath of detergent, followed by Downy, because any other fabric softener would cause an unpleasant itch that would remove the wonderful comfiness of the blanket.
And lo! The Washing Machine did work its magic, and the blanket was clean, but now had more than brazillioned its weight due to all the water trapped in its soft, luscious little fibers. And lots of those fibers were still clinging to the inside of the washing machine... and all the other things that were in the washing machine with the blanket, like towels and such. But our heroine was a firm believer in the power of the Lint Thingy to get all fuzzies off of clothes & what-not and into the lint trap where it belonged. So, while exercising all her strength*, our heroine wrestled the water-laden blanket out of The Washing Machine, and into The Dryer.
Triumphant over the blanket, our unsuspecting heroine pressed the start button on The Dryer, confident in the delicate cycle's ability to wick the moisture away in that magic way of dryers everywhere. Then our heroine returned to the couch to fold and sort the other laundry while the blanket of much coziness tumbled itself into fluffy dryness.
Some hours later, after much folding, drinking of carbonated, fermented beverages, a snack of cheese and an epic battle of cats vs. laser pointer, our brave heroine ventured back out into the land of The Washer & Dryer to retrieve her treasured blanket. (I should mention that somewhere in there I... er... our heroine left the house to do Other Chores and got a call from her darling husband who was being an ever-so-helpful human and bringing the laundry in and mentioned something about the blanket in the dryer being a bad thing... something about the lint trap... but, you know, she didn't really pay too much attention.)
And that's when it happened.
When she opened the door, she immediately knew something was amiss...
There was a fine dusting of suspiciously green lint on...
The car (for the land of The Washer & Dryer was also home to the automobiles), the floor, the shelves that hold the cleaning stuffs, the boxes that haven't made it inside the house to be unpacked and put away, the workbench-type-thing...
So... it turns out that chenille isn't really dryer compatible.
And it also helps if you actually have the tube at the back of the dryer hooked up to something--like the outside, or a lint trap...
Yeah. The Lint Thingy had a horrific breakdown while trying to process the metric boat-load of chenille fluff from all the towels & stuff, not to mention the blanket itself, and in a desperate attempt at self preservation, diverted all of the fluff into the atmosphere.
So, everything in the
so all the towels went back into The Washer to be cleaned & this time the Lint Thingy did its job admirably and the blanket, though miraculously not diminished to the size of a washcloth by the loss of all that fluff, vowed never to let itself be put in The Washer again.
*like a small pony...