'Round about 2 years ago, when my newlywed-era, bought-for $50-from-a-friend-in-the-newsroom dryer began to cost us WAY more than it was worth, I began to long for a new washer. My longing really began long before ... laundry is a passion of mine ... but I figured a new dryer needed a shiny, new washing companion to match his fancy, new sheen, so I upped my lobby for a pretty, new front-loading appliance. (And I began kicking the old one.)
My old washer-girl never fully died, but we sent her to off to a worthy cause and our new washing and drying couple came home to live 18 months ago. Two days ago my girl got something hung in her innards and stopped sucking. Stopped spinning. Stopped working altogether. And a little part of me died too. Just couldn't fully focus of the days of our lives. A part of me was left behind in the laundry room. Pick your head up, I urged my girl. We can get thru this.
"She's just a baby," was my lament.
And as any mother knows, a little guilt began to creep in. Maybe, just maybe, I should've checked big and little pockets better. Maybe the sand from this year's vacation was just too much. Beagle hair? Somehow, I just knew I was at fault. Like housewives who suck up glass in their Hoover. Or use the disposal for a food processor. I had taken her for granted ... been stupid ... and now she was hurt. I just had a feeling ...
It would take a WEEK for Sears to respond to her ailing parts. Not exactly an ER-like response.
While we waited for medical attention, and going on my gut that I had unwittingly thrust something into her gullet, The Tall One to Whom I am Married began his own examination.
We emptied foul-smelling liquids from her nether-regions and found moldy coins, collar stays, suspicious pieces of plastic.
Reaching further into the recesses of her spinning and sucking parts, we uncovered more sinister remnants of ... nature camp? Or beach toys? Or sleepover booty?
For two nights we tested and tried and agonized and watched her take baby steps into becoming her old self. We fist-pumped and high-fived when she appeared to be righting herself. We sighed, shrugged, harrumphed and hung our heads low when she called out for help w/ the flashing and beeping of her message board.
But, only tonight, w/ the removal of a gnarled piece of clear plastic from her motor rotor and w/ one last tightening of her front-panel screws did The Tall One fully restore the life into my girl.
She's just graduated her first load of delicates.
I'm confident she can withstand the heave-ho of towels and denim.
She has the loving support of her family.
We'll be cheering for her and charting her progress.
