Re­plac­ing our old ap­pli­ances left me wish­ing I’d never had hogs on the farm.

Country - - CONTENTS - BY JUDY WAG­NER Colome, South Dakota

Laugh out loud at the sto­ries and jokes Coun­try read­ers tell.

Many years ago, a load of dirty throw rugs turned out to be the last straw for our old May­tag, and black smoke rose out of its top dur­ing the spin cy­cle. So my hus­band and I de­cided we had time that day to take the kids into town to buy a new washer be­fore the lo­cal co-op closed.

The man­ager didn’t mind stay­ing to help, and in fact gave us such a great deal that we bought the match­ing dryer. Plus they would de­liver the new ma­chines the next morn­ing and take the old washer and dryer off our hands.

I was in ap­pli­ance eu­pho­ria as we drove home. It didn’t last long, though. As we pulled in, we saw the hogs were out and glee­fully rolling up the new sod in the front yard. We jumped out of the car.

Two yelling chil­dren, one irate farmer, his ticked­off wife and a dog do not make an ideal wran­gling crew, but we got the hogs back in their yard and found the gate they’d knocked down. While we fixed the gate, I re­mem­bered I had some un­der­wear in the dryer, so I asked my 8-year-old son to re­move them to a laun­dry bas­ket. Then I promptly for­got about it. The next morn­ing, the new ap­pli­ances ar­rived right on time and the old ones were hauled away. I hap­pily washed and dried ev­ery dirty ar­ti­cle of cloth­ing that I could find. When it came time to run er­rands, I went back to the co-op to get what I needed.

Check­ing out, I spotted a sack on the regis­ter with my hus­band’s name on it. I asked the clerk about it, and he gave me a funny look be­fore grab­bing the bag. He told me, star­ing down at his feet, that he’d come across some “stuff” in­side our old dryer.

My mind drew a blank. So I thanked him, took the sack and walked out with my head held high. Af­ter all, I was the proud owner of a top-of-the-line washer and dryer from that very store!

Open­ing the sack in the car, I found the un­men­tion­ables that my son ap­par­ently for­got to re­move. It took me a long time to go back into the co-op or to look that young man in the eye again. It was a small town. Thank God he went to a dif­fer­ent church.

Maybe I should have asked my daugh­ter to empty the dryer. My son has se­lec­tive hear­ing, and we were all dis­tracted. De­spite my shame, I was still hog-wild over my new ap­pli­ances!

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