Tag Archives: Breastpads

Breadpants blockage.

Today marked one of my more awkward highlights on this happy journey of motherhood.

A few days ago, our washing machine decided to cease all drainage function. Lady S dutifully rang Panasonic and arranged for an engineer to come out under the warranty, before bemoaning the quality of washing machines nowadays, how her last one had survived 17 generations and nine world wars and what was the world coming to when you could only have a washing machine for nine months before its sudden death.

She tested my knowledge of consumer legislation as I negotiated the M62 and bemoaned how disgraceful it was that an engineer couldn’t come out for five days, given we had a baby and a toddler. I think she thought she was ringing the AA – although they might have taken five days too.

Anyway, she managed to be cheery with the chap who arrived today, even though he was a bit late.

He fished various items from our filter – small coins, a Red Nose Day pin badge, bits of Lego, and general detritus.

Still there was a problem.

He delved deeper as only a Properly Qualified Washing Machine Engineer can. We left him to it.

Lady S took the tiddlers for a short drive to induce sleep – 50% success.

She arrived back to find that the engineer had solved the problem and retrieved a mystery item.

‘I don’t know what this is’, he said. ‘I’ve never seen one of these before’.

He held aloft what our son would endearingly call ‘one of Mummy’s breadpants’.

My attempt to be environmentally friendly by buying washable breastpads had slightly backfired.

Still, it was a first (and probably a last) for the lovely engineer, who is probably lying down in a darkened room somewhere.

As more breadpants whirl around our beautifully functioning washing machine, at least one of life’s great mysteries has been solved – washing machines really do eat things.