Something really bad.
I washed my jeans.
And my cell phone.
Told you it was really bad.
There I was, just doing the laundry, and I threw my jeans in cause I wanted to wearing them the next day for the camping trip. The only thing was that I forgot to check my pocket first. And... my cell phone in my pocket, the pocket that I forget to check before placing the jeans in the swirling mass of suds.
Ten minutes later, I reached for my cell phone to charge it, only to realize that that it wasn't there. In that moment, I suddenly panicked, raced for the washing machine, stuck my hand into the churning machine... and pulled out the wrong pair of sopping pants.
When I did finally pull out the right pants, my phone was buzzing and shaking like a demon-possessed banshee, even though it had been completely dead prior to its diving expedition.
In short, I did violently, yet innocently, killed my phone by subjecting it to a watery grave with Davy Jones as a bunkmate. Poor phone.
To make matters worse, I had to go without a phone for the entire weekend, only to remember Sunday morning that we had an extra phone the entire time. Figures, right?
But it all ended up okay! Micah got me a new phone for my birthday! Post to come...