Every year since we’ve been married, January has been an expensive month. I thought we were sneaking by it this year … foolish mortal. The dryer is running as noisily as ever, but now there is no heat. Mike, who has no appliance repair skills, is determined to start with this appliance. The dishwasher runs, but it spews nasty stuff all over the already dirty dishes. I’m just doing the dishes in the sink. Mike has this next on his list. The lawnmower, which the kids rely on for their “neighborhood income” is dead. This is third on Mike’s repair list.
I should be clear here, I’m not mocking my husband, I just have less belief in his ability to repair things he knows very little about than he does. I love him and I will sit here and watch him and cross my fingers that whatever website he’s using is steering him in the right direction.
At the same time, I’m cringing at the thought of having another repairman ask me, “Who was messing with this?” I could suck it up and say it was me, but they’d out me on the first question about what I’d done. They usually catch on when I say things like “I moved that thingie over there.” Most repair guys don’t care when I shout, “Yeah, but he can debone a chicken faster than you can fix that thingie.”
Everyone, this means you, please go bury something, anything, in your back yard that my dryer can be fixed quickly. The pollen is the worst here it’s been in years. If I have to hang out clothes to dry, I might as well hang Ian from a tree. No pressure.