Is it enough to come home, just a little bit late from work, to a leaking ceiling and a sad, sick best friend? I think it is. Right now it is enough. Soaking wet towels again, heavier than I am... on a really bad day. Throw them in a big machine, it will wipe the musty odor away. Wash it away. Dance across the kitchen, you vibrating and unbalanced, washing-robot.
I sometimes wonder if inanimate objects are really so inanimate. We are not made of metal or plastic. We are not wooden, so who the hell decided they knew what it was like to be a lump of coal? I think I have enslaved my washing machine robot. Poor thing.