The Washing Machine Challenge

I moved the washing machine the other day. No, you don't understand. This is a monster of a washing machine. It's a Maytag. A 15 year old big hunk o' metal. Leah told me not to try and move it. She said that two removalists needed to work together to get this thing off the truck and into the house, "You will only injure yourself" - a voice of reason. But did I listen?

Yeah, right.

You see, the thing that one has to understand is that you can't tell a man that something is too difficult - especially if you say that the thing is too heavy. It's a challenge that we just can't leave unanswered.

So what did I do?

"No worries. It's fine," I said. I was far too motivated to listen to the voice of reason. How could I? In fact, I had to do even better than meet the challenge, as you will soon see. So there I was, all alone - me and a washing machine that's built with more metal than a Merkava Tank. I sized it up. I imagined it growling at me like an angry bull in a ring, snorting at me, calling me a "wuss". Q: How heavy could it be? I moved it an inch or two. A: About a tonne. Far heavier than I expected. I had no idea how I would get this cube of solid metal over the bump and down the step.

The washing machine was goading me. Calling on me to give it up and go home. But I was home and I wasn't going to let an inanimate object talk me out of a challenge. No way.

But I did it, showing just enough sign of strain to prove that the thing is heavy, but not too much so as not to admit that it is too difficult. Cool. No sweat. Nothin' to it, baby.

With manly ego firmly intact, I soon got the washing machine to where it was supposed to be. Hah! And to prove to you that moving it was a piece of cake, I did it while it was fully loaded.