Whirlpool, Take Me Away!

I knew the time would come. I just wasn't sure if I could hold on much longer. You know, you buy a washing machine, you give it a good home, you pay it lots of attention and one day without warning, it turns on you. 

Granted, it had a good life. I guess we would have made the Maytag repairman proud, but you're never really ready to say goodbye.  You hold out to the bitter end thinking if we can just make it for a few more months, but somehow you know the time is coming and you're gonna have to pull the plug. 

First, she (and yes, if you knew her moods, you would know she's a she) decided to shake, rattle and roll across the floor at various times. Then came the popped belts and the agitator that wouldn't agitate. With every new symptom we would call the handy-dandy washer repairman and he would come put Humpty together again. But after the 4th or 5th call, it became personal. Late at night with a load of heavy, wet towels that she refused to spin, I knew the house was too small for both of us. This could not go on. I was losing sleep, wringing out socks and hanging them everywhere. That's when she made her final move. (Listen closely and you'll hear the music from High Noon).

She dumped me. Literally.  Six or eight times during one wash cycle. I would fill her up, turn the knob and the wash would begin and....dump. I would grab the knob, turn it just a tiny bit, pull it out and it would wash again....for 5 seconds. Then, bloosh! (It's called poetic license. I know it's not a real word). Over and over it dumped. So, my new regimen became standing over the washing machine with my hand on the knob, ready at the drop of a dime to push, turn and pull....push, turn and pull....push, turn and pull...well, you get the picture. 

By this time, she and I were spending all of our spare time together. I read the paper in the laundry room with my hand on the knob. If I dared leave for a minute to answer the phone or grab something to drink, I could hear her choose that exact moment to dump. I would run, leaping over the dog and laundry baskets to slide into home and grab that knob before I had to waste more detergent.  I ate a peanut butter sandwich occasionally for strength. I talked her through one load at a time. "Come on girl. If you give me the dress pants for tomorrow, you can rest until Friday."  I almost fell asleep late one night with my head on the lid but she had some kind of hiccuping attack and woke me up.

Then it happened. I found out through a friend that her friend's friend had a washer for sale--cheap. Cheap being the operative word here, I quickly put the wheels in motion (that would be the wheels on my husband's truck) and we went in search of our new/old machine.
It is a thing of beauty. There's nothing in the Louvre quite as breathtaking. I turned on the water and she gurgled happily. She didn't try to talk back. I put the clothes in and she agitated gracefully. It came time to spin and she outdid herself! I was so excited and giddy I washed everything in sight. I'm not even sure who all these clothes belong to.  I finally had to stop because the dryer just can't keep up. He's old and cantankerous too. All I can say is he'd better watch his attitude. I've got my eye on him. And I'm taking names.