Oh Come On Boys!

I'm having a washing machine drama; the old girl finally has packed it in. It wouldn't completely drain of water. And then it wouldn't drain at all; the bowl was full of water at the end of the wash, which is a pretty good sign the thing is cactus. I've had to syphon it out with a hose; the times I watched my father take petrol from the car for the lawn mower, when I was a kid, came in handy, after all.

Not to worry, help was at hand. Mark got me another washing machine and all I had to do was lift the old one into the car and go fetch the new one.

Easy! Well, I couldn't do it on my own...

At the risk of promoting negative gay boy stereotypes, I shall continue... knowing full well that I just had the wrong selection of queers in attendance. (Mark is now going to bring it down on his own, Wednesday)

In the middle of draining the machine of water and replacing the tap washer, there were three muscle bound gay boys, gym heads the lot of them, present. Pumped. Toned. Fine, physical, specimens of men. So, naturally, I thought I had it in the bag.

First, we had to deal with the grime that had built up behind the machine over the, how many, years? There was no point letting eight feet shuffle that up the hallway carpet. The spilled water had now mixed with the dust and it had turned it to grey sludge. Mixed in was old soaped powder box rips, wire, bits of card, a couple of soap scoops, paper clips, miniature cake of soap remains, biros, sticks, flea collars, clothes pegs, mouth guards, cotton, wax, scissors, cotton wool buds, dental floss and nail clippings.

Two gay boys looked as though they wanted to faint, as I mopped the dust, water slime and tat into my pan.

"OMG!" said one.

The other clutched his throat. (I kid you not... and I'm not talking about effeminate boys)

"It's only dust," I said. "It's just got wet, that's all."

"Get the disinfectant," said one, as the other's face screwed into a grimace.

"It's just wet dust... predominately!"

I cleaned up the grime quickly, as Biff and Chuck went green and appeared unsteady on their feet.

"All we have to do is move it out the front to the car and lift it in."

"How heavy is it?" said one.

"I'm not good with this sort of stuff," said another, rubbing his muscle bound arms, protectively.

"Why the hell do you guys go to the gym, anyway?" I asked incredulously.

Truly, they looked at me like I had just lost the plot completely.

"Because I want to look good," offered one tentatively. The other nodded in agreement.