It’s been a while since I’ve told a story. This one happened this last week.
I was holding my six-month old when I bent over to pick something up off the little shelf/cupboard where we keep our shoes. This shelf, lovingly called the shoe shelf, is sandwiched between our front door and our couch. It also houses our wax melt scent thingy.
When I bent over, my six-month old flailed about it delighted abandon and struck the wax melt, sending liquid wax tumbling down toward the coach. I watched in horror as the champagne scented wax fell, not on the couch, but all over my wife’s 70-dollar LuLaRoe Sarah. For those not familiar with that brand, its basically a floor length cardigan that is highly awesome and very warm, not to mention the most expensive article of clothing in our house. My wife sells them, so her LuLaRoe clothes are precious things all around.
I panicked. Hot wax covered the bottom corner of her precious LuLaRoe. She wasn’t in the room. The kids were all fine, so, being the genius that I am, I decided to toss it into the wash with the wax still wet. I started the washer before she came out, assumed everything was fine, and went back to the evening. Well, first I put new wax in the wax melt so she’d never know it spilt, cleaned off the wall and shoe shelf, and pretended it never happened. I was safe. She’d never know I ruined her Sarah.
Fast forward to when the washer finishes. I rush to it before she can (she was nursing the baby) and volunteer to finish it up. I was confident everything would be great, and it was. I couldn’t see any wax. Since that type of clothing needs to air dry, I took it to the closet and hung it up along with the other clothes…and that’s when I noticed the wax was starting to appear all down the side of the sweater. See, it had been warm and wet still, so I hadn’t initially noticed it. As it dried, it started to appear.
Curses! I couldn’t easily sneak it back into the washer and I was getting ready to admit defeat and fork over the money to replace her Sarah. I’d failed to fix it. In one last ditched effort to not give up, I googled “how do you get wax out of clothes?” About a dozen of the responses were from husbands who had spilled wax on their wife’s clothing. They all suggested using an iron and a pair of towels to heat up the wax, then soak it into a towel. I could try that, but I had to wait until the kids and my wife went to bed.
That is how I found myself at 1am sneaking into my own closet to get the aforementioned wax-strewn article of clothing and then sneaking into the kitchen with an iron and two towels. My apartment is small, and even smaller with three kids in it. There is no place you can go in it that you can’t hear the smallest sound made from anywhere else in the apartment. I sneakily did as “the google” suggested and got the wax out of that garment. It took a while to get it all out, but when I was done, it was gone. I’d done it. Yawning, now at 2:15am, I snuck back into my bedroom and put the Sarah back into the closet, now wax-free. I was tired, sore, and more than a little embarrassed, but I also glowed with the joy of accomplishment. I’d done it. No more wax.
My alarm went off at 6:30 and I hurriedly got ready to go to work with my wife slumbering on with the kids. It was calm and peaceful. Just before leaving, I decided to go survey my handiwork again. I’d done it. I’d gotten the wax out. I could be proud of that, right? I was…until I noticed I’d missed a spot.
Which is how I found myself sneaking back into the kitchen to get out that last spot of wax with an iron and two more towels…
Moral of the story…google it first.
P.S. Yes, my wife now knows, but I made it a week before I caved and told her. She never noticed anything different with the Sarah until I brought it up.