Wijvenweek post #3. Today's post is about the household, and the biggest household event this week related to my washing machine. Thus, this ode...
I bought you when I was still single. You were cheap and people (specifically those who wrote reviews and product ratings) spoke highly of you. I felt like you were a good deal. I later found out that your relationships typically had a life expectancy of only two years. You were willing to stay with me for longer.
I moved to MA with you, and you continued to serve me well. We had one blow-up in which you trashed a pillow and strewed what looked like feathers from five dozen plucked geese across my basement, but that was our only real fight. Even then, when I brought a professional in to mediate and told him that you had been manufactured by a company that rhymes with "Me E," he was blown away that we had stayed together for so long. That appliance repair man was the one who told me that you had already outlived your life expectancy. My cousin who used to work for the "E" confirmed that.
I have to admit I have been waiting for your time to come. You have demanded a lot of me in terms of energy and water. I have been eyeing a hot little front loading number that is willing to do everything for me that you have done, but is a little "lower maintenance." But you kept chugging right along. In the past couple months you started to moaning and groaning, like our family's dirty laundry was becoming too much for you to handle. We really thought your brother would be the first to go, though. Not only was the dryer also griping whenever it was asked to perform, but it was kind of acting like a wet blanket, or perhaps it was just leaving us with wet blankets, as it became less and less effective at actually drying.
But you wanted to be first, and you wanted to go out with a big bang so I would always remember you. You did. Monday my older son (OS) had pink eye and my younger son (YS) ended up in the ER for swallowing a paper clip. Tuesday morning I threw in a load of laundry, added the soap, and pressed start. You took your last drink of water from me, but then decided to end our relationship. You wouldn't even stay with me for one last spin. Just before the spin cycle you stopped, holding water and wet clothes. I was sad. I felt like I needed to breathe into a bag. Then I spent the afternoon on the phone looking for a replacement. That evening, I went out and invited your replacement into my life.
I thought things had ended on your terms. I thought you had what you want. But you were unwilling to get out of the way for your replacement. When the delivery men told me that they didn't think they would be able to get you out of the house, I wanted to breathe in a paper bag again. Fortunately you relented, and the delivery men were able to get you out of the house.
As excited as I am to have the new washing machine in my life, it was not easy to put your replacement on a pedestal. Why? Well, because the delivery men brought the wrong pedestals. In the end, it did require a second visit, but the new machines are resting comfortably. Well, not so much resting, as I have already put them to work for me.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: A lot of effort is involved in dumping one appliance and picking up another one, but it is well worth the effort.Labels: Feminism, Humor (at least Attempted), Toys / Clothes / Gear, Wijvenweek |
Ah, some day I aspire to develop my own relationship with a washing machine, although now I will do so with open eyes.