There is Always a Hitch in the Gidyup

The week before last, my dishwasher started leaking, which spurred a trip to the Home Despot, where Hugh and I laid down a fair chunk of change for a new washer, as well as a new fridge.

Did we need the fridge? Technically, no. Was the fridge the exact same age as the dishwasher and, therefore, at risk of failure? Yes, and, maybe. 

Did I want the fancy new fridge with the French doors and ability to make craft ice? Yes. Did I get it because I am a spoiled housewife who gets whatever she wants? Hell, no. I work my ass of and deserve to use that hard-earned money on a new appliance if I so choose.

And I chose the fancy-ass fridge.

Did I regret that decision when it was actually delivered to the house and we discovered that, while it technically fit in the space previously occupied by the old fridge, it was just about a quarter of an inch too tall for the cabinet doors above it to open? Yes, yes I did. But, only for an hour or so, which was the amount of time that it took Hugh to begrudgingly remove the cabinet doors and to plane them down to fit.

Did I congratulate myself on having married a man with skilz? Absolutely.

Thus endeth the Saga of the Fridge.

Now, let's talk about the dishwasher.

The dishwasher was delivered several days ahead of the fridge. Hugh took receipt of the machine and had the deliverymen open the box so that he could make sure there was no visible damage, which, there was not. Hugh then left the dishwasher in the garage for a couple of days, until he had time to install it.

The drama unfolded when, on the day that he went to install it; he opened the door on the front of the washer and water poured out of the door. From the electronics panel.

Apparently, dishwashers are shipped with water in them (from having been tested or some such shit) and are not supposed to be placed on their sides or back. One can only assume that that message got lost somewhere in translation because, clearly, the washer had spent some time in the wrong position for this to have happened. 

Hugh, on the phone with customer service, wishing there was someone he could throat-punch.

Blurry screenshots, taken from the video Hugh took of water cascading from the electronics panel.

Hugh immediately called Home Despot and then spent the better part of two hours on the phone, only to be told that the earliest they could get to us for either repair or replacement would be April 15th. Until then, I would be handwashing dishes. I had ten people coming over for Easter brunch and was, as you may imagine, not happy with this piece of news.

Hugh was incandescent with rage. Like, vibrating in anger. I'm not even kidding.

He finally said "Fuck it; let's let it dry out and see what happens. If it works, great. If it doesn't, you can make like Ma Ingalls on the prairie until the replacement comes".

That's what I heard, anyway.

So, I worked up a lovely pair of dishpan hands Saturday and Sunday morning, while waiting for the machine to dry out. Then, in an Easter miracle, we plugged the sucker in and attempted to run a load of brunch dishes and the damn machine actually worked.

I haven't run it since, but will probably need to in the next day or so. Hopefully, it will continue to work, but, we aren't cancelling the appointment with the repairman just yet.

We're smart like that.

Anyhoodle, it took a hot minute to get us here, but behold! My new, slightly oversized, way overpriced, and anxiety-inducing appliances! 
 

Please, in the name of all that is holy, let them last as long as the appliances they are replacing.

Amen.