Did you hear me roar? I am Woman, with a capital “W”. That’s after being a Dunce, with a capital “D”.
Somehow, a lovely black pen exploded in the dryer. When Oldest Daughter returned from a week long adventure in the mountains (will blog about that on a different day), I immediately, being the get-it-done sort of girl I am, threw every stitch of winter clothing she owned into the washer, then the dryer. Which means that every pair of jeans, every long-sleeved shirt, her fleece, her pillow case, every thing, had lovely black spots, which did not happen to match the clothing very well. And the dryer? Holy Dalmatian. You know those time-elapsed pictures of the stars? It was that, in miniature, all over the inside of the dryer.
I went online to find out how to remove the spots. All the information said, “Remove ink immediately. Do not dry first.”
Um, it was the drying that did it, Occum.
The clothes spent 2 days in a constant soak/rinse cycle with my new best friend, Biz (thank you, PWC for that tip). All but 3 shirts and one pair of pants came out of the last cycle looking a bit damp but non-inky. Then, I thought it was time to pull out the big guns.
First, I tackled the dryer. I found a great tip online: soak 2 white towels in a bleach/water mix and run them through the dryer. Repeat. This removed about 98% of the ink. The rest I scrubbed off with nail polish remover. Then, I threw the same towels, this time soaked only in water, into the dryer to clean up any residual bleach/nail polish remover. Except for a few lingering stains, you’d never know a ball point threw up in my dryer.
Then, the clothes. Again, I pulled out the nail polish remover, which I had to buy since I don’t actually paint my nails much. On Sunday, I spent about 2 hours dab-dab-dabbing. Luckily, House Hunters International was on. I daydreamed about my house in Fiji (I’d pick the Balinese style with 3 outbuildings) while getting high on legal fumes. The pants and one shirt didn’t fare so well. I think they dipped themselves in bleach while I wasn’t looking. I call that a small price to pay for the salvation of the rest of the clothes.