The old dishwasher taunts me as the new one takes up residence in my living room. So close yet so far. When the gentlemen came to deliver, install, and take away our old friend, there was a glitch. They told us our valve was bad and they couldn’t install it, but could leave it for us to do ourselves. My spouse, who is very competent in matters of plumbing and such, disagreed with them. He used some colorful sentence enhancers to express his displeasure and I, the sane one, (sometimes I am the voice of reason), used my kind and respectful voice to end the standoff. It was a no-win situation. So, yesterday, there was a box sitting in my living room holding my shiny, new dishwasher. Dishes were piled in the sink because I boycotted using my Dawn detergent anymore, even though my hands are super soft.
When Brian came home last night there was a flurry of activity. Removing our loyal dishwasher that passed away, putting it on the front porch (we are super classy), and installing the new one. The dishwasher I picked had the control on the top as opposed to the front and there was concern that once installed, the counter would cover it making it impossible to use. I swear my voice sounded like Linda Blair in “The Exorcist” as I said, “I don’t care what you have to do. Make it work.” By this time it is 8 pm and I am done. Done looking at dirty dishes. Done with an obstacle course of items in my living room. Just done. By 8:15, I had my new-shiny-gorgeous-stainless steel-dish washing-friend, running with my first round of dirty dishes. Brian made it work and my Satanic voice was able to relax.
Yes, as much as I had hoped that the transition would be smooth, it wasn’t. But, it had its moments of humor as I battled all the testosterone who seemed to not agree on a simple valve. And, if you want to pay your respects to our old dishwasher, we have moved it in from the front porch into the foyer, while it waits for the funeral home aka the garbage truck to take it away. It adds a lot to the living room decor.