|Our stackable, hand-me-down washer and dryer|
It started with screeching. Polite, pardon me, oil can! through pursed lips kind of screeching.
The screeching got louder. It became grating. It vibrated our tympanic membranes in a most painful fashion.
Derek and I read blogs and watched youtube videos and surfed the waves of the internet searching for a DIY solution to our problem. And by "DIY" I do not mean "Do It Yourself," of course; I mean "Do It Derek'sself," so I suppose Derek was looking for DIY, and I was looking for DID. But I digress.
Maybe if he had been able to wrestle the stubborn metal outer shell off of it, Derek would have been able to fix whatever problem was ailing our aging dryer, but that sucker was not coming off for anything. He wrestled and banged and made impressive loud sounds, all for naught. The dryer continued to screech, and we continued to live with it, until the clanging began.
A few weeks ago the dryer decided that screeching was not getting through to us. It read a Joel Osteen book, put on its big girl panties, and decided it needed to Live Its Best Life Now and Make Every Day a Friday or some equally incomprehensible piece of bafflement and started throwing rocks around its insides anytime we had the audacity to try and dry clothing in it.
I swear it knew when it was me specifically entering the laundry room, because if the dryer was already running (as it so often is around here), it would hurl some particularly sharp piece of metal against its side, right toward my face. It wore its bitterness at its indentured servitude on its sleeve. Door. Whatever.
And that is why, one day last week, when so many stores were running sales in honor of our veterans (I could tell it wasn't to make money because they put an American flag on the sales flyer. Got me again, Nebraska Furniture Mart!), Derek and Caedmon and I trotted our little selves all around Des Moines to find a washer and dryer that was 1) within our budget, 2) energy efficient, and 3) preferably not homicidal.
[Cue angelic music]
|I know, right?|
You'll have to forgive me a moment here while I gush; there is absolutely no way I can be cool about this. I knew that ship had sailed when Caedmon stared open-mouthed at the washer when the installation guys were testing it before leaving (never mind that I may or may not have randomly exclaimed "FANCY!" half a dozen times while they were here- I hope they realized I was in awe at our new appliances, and do not in fact have Tourette's, nor am I obsessed with Reba McEntire). It's not just me, though; last night I walked into the laundry room to find Derek, Adelaide, Atticus, and Caedmon all sitting there, just staring at the washer as it did its revolutionary (ooh, puns) work of washing our dirty clothing.
You guys. That washer? It uses thirty fewer gallons of water PER LOAD than our last washer did. Our family does an average of ten loads a week; for those of you who get hostile when math is mentioned I will go ahead and tell you that that's a savings of around 300 GALLONS OF WATER EACH WEEK. I have washed and dried five loads of laundry so far today and have already decided I can live with whatever dark magic that dryer employs because I can dry more clothing in less time than our last dryer with zero rancorous overtures.
|Caedmon watching Fancy this morning.|
Big thanks to Derek for taking off work early and Derek's dad for driving down to help finish installing the dryer when the actual installation guys were unable to do so. Something about the wrong kind of outlet in the wall or something, I basically nodded and said "Okay," "Right," and "FANCY!" when the guy was trying to tell me what was wrong and blah blah blah. This was not frustrating at all for Derek when he tried to find out from me what the problem was. I am such a catch.
I got Fancy all to myself this morning for the first time, loaded down with a small mountain range of nasty sheets and clothing and towels and yogurt-soaked place mats.
She didn't let me down.