Friday, 4 May 2012


Want to know why my wardrobes look like this?

I'll give you a clue - it isn't because of me!

Hubby does my ironing - this is not his latest bout of ironing; no, if it were that you would see a smaller selection because his idea of a mammoth ironing session is a maximum of 5 items.

No, hubby wanted to be helpful.  By helpful I mean putting the clothes away for me onto the nice gadgety hanger thing (yes, another phrase in the Ribena dictionary).

As my mum is one of those that believes the best things come in small packages, I am tiny - but only in height mind you.

When I designed my floor to ceiling wardrobes I forgot that a split level wardrobe meant that I wouldn't be able to reach the top rail.  For two years I have hunted around the house for the small stool or jumped up and down like tigger on a pogo stick in a vain attempt to take something from the top rail. 

So we bought a rail that is attached to two spring loaded arms.  When you pull down the handle the rail lowers to shoulder height - there is probably a technical word for this but I have no idea what it is.  It was my saving grace; after all until I get to a much lower weight me jumping up and down on an invisible pogo stick is not a pretty sight.

Hubby did the ironing, hung it on the front of the wardrobe (all 5 items mind you) and then pulled the handle.  I was relaxing on the bed, in some small way trying to look somewhat feminine (not seductive mind, it was after all daytime...) and you know when you can see 5 seconds into the future?  My mind does not go at 88 MPH nor does it transport me into the future or past though some would argue that at times it does transport me to another plant but I digress...

I knew what was going to happen.  Hubby was either going to "forget" or just not use that wonderful brain of his to remember that being spring loaded you must take the weight of it before it hits the bottom.  Gravity alone means that the sheer weight of the many much required items I had placed on the hanger meant that taking the strain is necessary.  Except he didn't and my mouth did not kick in as fast as my brain.

This is the result: 

You can bet I didn't rely on Hubby to put a new one in!  No, I called my Dad.

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