We have what seems to be a normal relationship. I put dirty clothes in, you wash them. I put wet clothes in the dryer, they come out dry(er).
One of you is eating my running socks.
I'm not going to name names, Dryer, but my shrinking supply of running socks has caused my body to become angry at me this weekend, and this is not acceptable.
Because of your sneaky sock stealing ways, I was forced out into the single digit weather on Sunday morning to run 11 miles in old holey running socks. Holey running socks with holes that rubbed my heal. For 11 miles. My body thought it best to let me know that I should end my run after 5 miles with a popped blister. My body did not realize that I had neither a band-aid nor a way to stop early on my there and back running route. I have had to rid myself of those holey socks post run, because of a serious "ewwwww" factor, Dryer, and I will have to put myself at your mercy to not eat my expensive running shoes when I have to wash them. But know that I have my eye on you, Dryer. You too, Washer, and I would appreciate your cooperation in keeping my body happier in the future.
My body thanks you for your future consideration.
Operator of Washer and Dryer