Actually, she’s the one who told me to include the ribbon in her pictures in the first place. She also gave approval for the story before I posted it. If anything, she’s walking around a bit more smugly, with a bit more swagger and a certain flourish to her ribbon-holding hand, since I posted it.
As for the rescue of the ribbon from the frightening beast that is the large expensive modern appliance, I will not lie: I was impressive. In a parallel universe where the world has stagnated since the days of the Anglo-Saxon King Ethelred, my victory over the machine is what Beowulf is written about. It was glorious.
And not just because the washing machine didn’t poison me in the end.