I’m a freak, apparently.
On a road trip on the weekend, I confessed to something that nearly caused my friend to swerve off the road and crash the car we were in.
So what did I say?
Are you ready? You may want to be sitting down. No seriously, I’ll wait.
Okay. Here goes … I don’t own a dryer.
You know, a CLOTHES DRYER.
Are you still there? Helloooooooooo?
Here’s what I’ve learned over the last 48 hours, apparently admitting to NOT OWNING A DRYER is like saying you don’t have a TV or you don’t believe in electricity or you make your own papier mache toilet paper.
“What do you mean you don’t own a dryer?” my friend said suspiciously, her eyes narrowing as though she suddenly suspected I was a hipster greenie with a cupboard full of activated almonds. “Why would you NOT own a dryer? And how the hell are you drying your washing?”
Err, I hang it out. You know, on a line. WITH PEGS.
Is that so weird?
Apparently it is. Apparently I am the only person in Australia pegging out washing in the suburbs.
It’s at this point my friend started referring to me as Mrs Tiggy Winkle, the famous Beatrix Potter character who spends her days doing washing.
She laughed. I laughed. And then I realised that Mrs Tiggy Winkle is a hedgehog with a BMI of about 127, so I stopped laughing and made her take it back.
But she continued to mock me none the less.
I think this is what you would call APPLIANCE SHAMING! I’m on the verge of starting a support group.
The truth is the reason I don’t own a dryer has less to do with strong-minded environmental principles and more to do with my obsession with TV.
Over the years conversations about buying a dryer have gone a bit like this: