the ringer

details not necessary- been through the wringer this week.

Funny expression, (probably picked it up from my mum as I do most of my odd turns of phrase...case in point: kerfuffle.... or shambols...) It stems from what happened to clothes in the olden days when they used wringer washers. I am by no means well equipped to extrapolate on the details of wringer washers, but I have seen one and actually used it once or twice.

-Anglican summer camp, we used to threaten the kids with death by wringer washer if they didn't go to sleep fast so we could go make out with the boy counsellors-

The clothes would be washed sent through the wringer to get all the water out so they would dry faster. The wringers are two cylinders that sit one on top of the other lengthwise and roll in opposite directions. The clothes get fed through the small space between the two wringers and their rolling pushes them through and squeezes out all the moisture.

The clothes come out looking all limp and haggared. Fit only to be hung on a line in the breeze for an afternoon, slowly regaining their shape with each breath of wind.

Sometimes disasters occured and clothes got stuck in the wringer and tore at the seams. They would get hung up too, more carefully than the others, and would be mended when they were dry.

The wringers of exhaustion, stress, infidelity, insomnia and freak weather patterns have left me limp and ripped at the seams.

My breezes come in the form of pachebel's canon, hot water bottles and scottish accents, soup, and an escape to Boston.

It's taken a while to realize that there is no shame in escaping...