At last, today we received the long awaited call that the parts for the dryer had arrived, and a visit from the dryer repair guys was eminent.
To catch up on my dryer woes, go over to my review blog where I shared with the internet how my dryer has been functioning only by the grace of well placed duct tape and two hamsters running on a wheel.
And while you’re there, leave a comment so you’ll be in the running to win a bottle of Wisk. And oh my word, those of you who have left comments, you were in rare form, my friends.
So. For the last few weeks I’ve been holding my breath, just waiting for the dryer to die before the parts arrived. Fiddledaddy, wanting to save money after receiving last months electricity bill, suggested that this might be the time for us to get an old fashioned clothes line for the back yard.
If looks could kill, the man would have been a vapor trail.
That idea was quickly abandoned.
Thankfully, we had the good sense to purchase an extended warranty on our dryer (which was just over a year old and wouldn’t have been covered if we hadn’t). We’re not usually known for being that insightful.
The dryer repair guys were ushered into the waiting laundry room, and they set about their task of dryer repair.
The house was unusually quiet, when Jensen piped up, “EWWWWW. What is so stinky? EWWWWW. I KNOW. IT’S THE DRYER GUYS. THAT’S what’s so stinky.”
And remember, Jensen has only one setting, “Embarrassingly Loud.” And yes, his hearing is fine. He just prefers to speak in ALL CAPS. And if you need proof, just go here.
Our house is the size of a postage stamp, so I’m certain that the dryer repair guys heard him.
I tried to do damage control. “Honey, you smell the oil lubricant that they are using to fix Mommy’s dryer, which she so desperately needs in order to make her job less miserable so let’s let the nice men finish their work quietly.”
“NO MOMMY. IT’S THE DRYER GUYS. THEY’RE STINKY.”
(In Jensen’s defense, and remember the child possesses heightened olfactory senses, I’m pretty sure that at least one of the dryer guys was a heavy smoker.)
At this point, Fiddledaddy came zipping around the corner from his office, and whisked Jensen up in a football hold, and carted him off into the far recesses of the master bathroom. Where he had a man-to-boy talk about being polite. And quiet. And whatever else that a man-to-boy conversation might be about.
Personally, I think that Fiddledaddy bribed him with the promise of Corvette when he’s 16.
I tried to hold it together as I thanked the dryer repair guys profusely for their efforts and bid them a good day.
Then I went to pay homage to my dryer. Which looked very spiffy. And I noticed that the Dryer Alert Alarm that lets you know when your clothes are dry by scaring you with an ear splitting buzzer (and which I always keep on the OFF setting) was set to LOUD.
Well played, dryer repair guys. Well played.
I’m a little fearful to actually turn the dryer on. Because you always hear about a Dryer Repair Guy scorned. And the kind of power they hold if one should happen to insult them.
Anyhoo. I’m pretty sure the intrepid Homeowner’s Association is going to frown on my new clothesline, hung between two haggard Maple trees. But just think of all the money I’ll be saving.