Buffy stuffed the sheets into the washer and poured in the detergent. She paused, squinting at the knobs. She fiddled and twisted, then slapped and shook before shaking her fists in frustration.
“Stupid Scottish washing machines!”
“Ummm, Buffy. What are you doing?” Dawn asked.
Buffy froze. “Nothing. Just…”
“Slaying the washing machine?”
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Hee. Still, the old ways are the best, eh?
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