So here’s what happened. I’m cleaning out the lint trap in my dryer. Doing a bang-up job. It’s deep though. Just cannot reach the lower half. So I grab a #2 pencil and shove it into the well. I’m maneuvering like Baryshnikov at the Bolshoi. Dragging up lint like a fisherman pulling future sushi out of the Sea of Japan. O.k., enough with the metaphors.
And in the midst of the cockiness, I accidentally (clumsily, actually) dropped the pencil into the well. Now I have lint and a pencil to retrieve. What do I do? Think. Think. Got it! A small paint brush. The brush end will naturally adhere to the lint and help lift out that #2. Bloody genius I am.
I almost had the pencil pulled up but it kept dropping back down. So I put scotch tape at the end of the paint brush. Genius? Came so close. After about twenty of these almosts, frustration set in and I, believe it or not, dropped the paint brush into the well. Genius credentials gone, I had lint, pencil and brush to pull outta there. Now what? Got it! I shrunk myself down to a size small enough to fit into lint trap. Why didn’t I think of this before? What? It’s my story. I can embellish. So, mini-me lowered myself into the uncharted fuzz fissure.
Not the most thought-out plan. I had zero clue of what dangers lurked. Fur dragons? A nappy Bigfoot? A Lintness Monster? O.k., that was bad. To my surprise, being enveloped by all of that warm soft stuff felt like ultimate safety and pure love. Sure, a couple of lint balls got caught in my throat, but after I coughed them out, it was worth it.
However, the lint ball hacking attracted the attention of some natives. A fluff family of four, complete with down dog. Not the yoga kind. A frizzy Frise. This adorable family lint unit were so congenial that they prepared me a meal of native cuisine. Subsequent to respectively coughing that up, my new friends helped me toss the pencil and paint brush out of the well. And before they gave me a boost back into my world, I offered to take them with me. But they graciously passed, expressing that with what’s going on up there politically, they were afraid they’d be deported to another dryer. So they’re staying put. I was starting to have second thoughts myself, but decided I belonged up top and would take my chances.
From that day forward, after every dryer load, I would fondly gaze into the lint trap, enveloping myself in the indelible memories of my adventure, and whisper a soft greeting to the family of four plus Frise. When I would tell my tale to friends, they were inevitably more than skeptical. Nevertheless, I feel confident that in every dryer on this planet, including theirs, tales of lint life abound. And this one is my story and I’m sticking to it. Uh, with it.
