a strange relationship (1)

I just moved into the same city as my boyfriend of almost three years.  Before this, we lived about two and a half hours away from each other, and saw each other about once a month, maybe twice.  I am now going to university in the city where he lives and works, and we see each other every day if we can manage it.  To walk to his place is a nice twenty-minute walk, and so I do it when I can ... and, being his girlfriend and a bit of a clean freak ... I’ve started to clean his house.  (Which is actually his sister’s house, but she’s not living in it at the moment and he’s renting it from her.  Anyway.)

So last Friday night, I ended up at his workplace about halfway through his shift.  I tried to get some studying done, but it was too noisy even with my headphones in, and so I took his car and headed to his place where I knew it would be pretty well silent (res isn’t bad, but it doesn’t have an open enough study surface where I can both spread my books out and be alone at the same time).  I had music history and psychology to do, as well as a diction assignment. 

As soon as I got there, I decided I was going to do his laundry.  Because it needed doing, and I knew quite well that he wouldn’t do it for a while yet.  And why not?  I was there, I knew how to work the washer and dryer just fine, and that way it’d all get done and he wouldn’t have to worry about it.  Also, it’s just a nice thing to do ... and it would give me breaks from my studying.

So I sort out the laundry and start a load ... put that one in the dryer and the next one in the wash ... took the dry stuff out of the dryer, but it wasn’t all dry, so left some stuff in ... put the second load in the dryer and cranked the temperature up to high ... next load in the wash.

Second dryer load is dry.  Take it out, put it on the couch to fold.  Take the third washed load and put it in the dryer.  Start the dryer, on medium this time, not high, since there’s less.

As I’m folding the laundry, I hear a boom over the music in my headphones (which is classical, just by the way).  I jerk my head over in the direction of the dryer and see an orange flash behind it.  There's no one else in the house, John doesn't have his phone on him, what if the house catches on fire, oh crap crap crap.

Stuff my headphones into my collar, drop the shirt, run over, no fire, dryer has stopped but is still on.  Turn it off.  Peer around the back.  I’ve got fifteen minutes before I need to go pick him up from work.  I need to finish folding and go get him, but I kinda don't want to leave the dryer in case the house catches on fire.  You know how it is.

By the time I finish folding, as I keep my eye on the dryer, I’m two minutes late to go get him.  Lock the house, jump in the car, drive to get him – praying all the while that the house wouldn’t burn down. 

He gets in, and I tell him on the way home that I’ve broken his dryer.  I expected the following:

“Oh no, we will have to pay for repairs ... “  General frustration and annoyance.

What happened:

“Huh.  Really?  Interesting.”

My reaction: ... ... ...

So when we get back to his place, he takes a look at the dryer.  I had wondered on my way to get him if I might have just blown a fuse ... and that’s what he suggests has happened, and he says that his father can likely fix it.  (His father’s a bit of a jack-of-all-trades and is a pretty cool guy.)  I’m relieved that the house hasn’t burned down.  [Update: a weld broke in the dryer, letting the drum (the part that spins) drop back against the heating element (which was the flash I saw).  It is fixable.  Phew!]

Now, of course, when we get back, we (mostly I (mostly by my own choice (mostly because it might not have happened otherwise (mostly because he doesn’t have the clean-it-all-it-must-be-cleaned – or Bohrok – gene)))) had to spend twenty minutes hanging up every single item of dark clothing (the load that did not get dried) that this man owns.  And he is tall.  And the drying rack he has is short.  So his pants just about touch the floor. 

I twitch at this.  He laughs.

I hang a whole schwack of clothes onto this rack, then have no more room for the shirts.  I get him to run upstairs and grab some hangers, with which I hang the shirts on the curtain rod ... and on the shower curtain rod in the bathroom ...  He had another drying rack that we could have used, but it needed assembly, and neither of us particularly wanted to figure it out (there were screws involved; it was eleven at night; we were both tired) ... so we tried an aluminum stepladder but that didn't work ... sigh.  No outdoor clothesline – the one he has needs cleaning, plus there has been so much wind these past few days that I have almost been blown away, so if we hung the laundry out to dry he wouldn’t have much laundry left.

I went back this morning briefly, and the stuff that was hanging was almost dry.  I expect it will be dry tomorrow.  [It still wasn't.  I don't even know if it's dry now.]

Ah, the adventures of one of the strangest dating relationships on the planet.