There’s a revolt afoot in my kitchen, and this time I’m not leading the march. As you might recall, my appliance issues began earlier this year when the knob broke off of my dryer. It was replaced, but eventually that knob broke off, and the issues were clearly deeper than the knob. The only way I can now turn the dryer on is by attaching a wrench to the stub, supporting myself with one foot on the wall, and performing a gymnastics move which may or may not include turning myself upside-down.
I so enjoy laundry day now.
In the last few weeks, I’ve noticed that my once whisper quiet dishwasher sounds like a 747 taking off from the kitchen when I turn it on at night. That’s just never a good sign. And then last night it began putting off an aroma that I can only describe as toxic death. It smelled like a mix of tires and cheap tupperware burning (but there were no tires OR tupperware present). We finally agreed that it was likely the motor committing suicide, and we flung open the windows and doors to air the house out.
Which worked fabulously since it was a cool 115 degrees last night. Between the hot flashes and the fumes I began reworking my will.
First thing Monday morning Fiddledaddy headed to Lowes to scout out a new dishwasher. He can be trusted with this task because I set my dishwasher expectations low. All that I ask is that when I punch the button, it works. Oh. And I don’t want the silver ware tray to be on the door. And I prefer white. And lots of room on the top rack for my extra large coffee mug. But other than that, I’m easy.
He phoned from the store and we had a conference call regarding which model to purchase, finally selecting one that was just slightly more expensive but should last longer than the 5 years attributed to the last model. And then he dropped the bomb shell. “And I’m going to install it myself.”
Visions of flood waters and electrocution danced in my head. I attempted to sway his opinion, but decided to let this one go. I prefer to pick my battles.
When he arrived home he informed me that the new dishwasher would not arrive for another 7 days. Or so. But that he wanted to remove the old offending dishwasher what with the stench and hazardous conditions posed. Thusly leaving me with a gaping hole in the kitchen. Ninety minutes later the cuss jar was filled to capacity. And the dishwasher was still secure in its original spot.
Cailey, ever the alarmist, posted a warning on the old dishwasher.
And so this evening while washing the dishes THE OLD FASHIONED WAY, Cailey came sprinting to report that water was flooding underneath the sink. (This cannot be blamed on Fiddledaddy because we noticed water damage prior to his attempt to extricate the dishwasher.) It’s a bad bad situation under that sink. And we cannot figure out the source of the leak.
There are three inevitabilities in my immediate future.
1) A real plumber will be dispatched asap.
2) Our carbon footprint is about to double as we contribute to the local land fill what with all the paper plates and all.
3) I will be keeping the Extra Strength Excedrin closer than usual.