I did something so dumb I shouldn't admit it. But maybe if I talk, the pain will go away.
I opened the dryer door this morning to grab some clothes and saw my iPod. I had brought it to the gym, stuffed it in a pocket of a hooded sweatshirt and threw the sweatshirt in the washer and dryer.
The last time I did something so dumb was when I stuck my digital watch in the microwave. The watch had an alarm that would go off every morning at 3, and I could not shut it off. So I stuck the watch in the microwave, watch jail, and the noise was muted.
One morning I put a cup of coffee in there to reheat, and I heard what sounded like a cry of pain. It was my watch. All the numbers had turned white.
I put a little towel down on the counter and gently set the watch on it. The numbers are still white. This was 20 years ago. The numbers are still white.
I don't care about watches. I don't need a watch. I need my iPod. I have some rare blues songs -- at least I think of them as rare. I loaded it with Robert Plant and Led Zeppelin, U2 and the Rolling Stones, Robert Johnson and Leadbelly, the Replacements, REM and Spirit. I made playlists that still hold up.
The only time I use it is at the gym, and that's enough. It sets the mood. Also, the gym I frequent is in the suburbs, and -- I don't mean to be sexist but truth is an absolute defense -- there are women that turn the place into Starbucks, with a modicum of sweat. They work out as if they get paid by the word.
Many of the women at the gym are serious. But some are tourists. They're there to be social, and if they burn a few calories, hooray. The iPod mutes them. Somebody starts talking about their kid or, more likely, their kid's bad teacher and boom -- here come Jack and Meg White and "Blue Orchid," and the gossip goes away.
I figured my iPod would either come out of the drier shiny and clean or it would come out destroyed. It appears to have been destroyed.
But I put a towel on the counter and gently set the little iPod on the softest part. I'll wait.