Speaking of Frog Blog:COUNT THE BUBBLES
My mom had a washing machine just like that. One day, I guess I was about four years old, Mom was doing a load of wash and while she was in the backyard I was playing with the electric ringer of the washer, running a wet rag through it.
The rag got caught in the ringer and in my attempt to get it out my hand slipped into the ringer and it began to eat up my hand, my wrist, and my arm. My screams brought my mom into the garage and she unplugged the washing machine, loosened the ringer, and withdrew my arm.
It had been eaten up to the elbow.
A quick visit by the doctor (yes, they made house calls in those days,) an Epsom salt bath for my arm (whatever happened to that stuff?) and a sling fixed me right up.
But those ringer washing machines could walk, they could talk, and they were very mean and hurtful to little boys.