Death of a Washing Machine

It's just what you want when you're sick: the clothes washer dying mid-cycle. If I'd been up for physical exertion, I'd have been at the range cycling my wife's firearm to see if cleaning and oiling took care of the feed issue it was experiencing. However, I wasn't, so I'm home reading a novel and playing a computer game from time to time as Spawn runs circles around me and tells stories about what her toys are doing.

Rest and recuperation were interrupted, however, by Death of the Washing Machine! Ours chose not to go quietly into the night. During the extra rinse cycle (useful to be sure my sensitive skin does not decide to react poorly to detergent residue) it started to squeak and grumble. Then, it simply failed. It was perfectly willing to make more squeaking and grumbling noises, but refused to run. Sigh. It could probably be fixed, but it wasn't an expensive machine to start with, so Bubbles went forth to shop for a new one. She's sick, too, so I hope the salespeople have the good sense to stand back as she deals with them.

Now, I know I didn't buy an expensive machine, but wouldn't you expect it to last longer than 4 years? Yeah, I would, too. So, the short-lived Whirlpool has just cost that manufacturer our business. On to Maytag! May it be a better tag. Er, brand. Looks like they'll be able to deliver on Monday, which is good. Thank goodness for a small emergency fund.

Next step: water retrieval. Spawn decided she was excellent helper for this stage of the operation, so she began running between the kitchen and the sewing room while I set up the shop vac and cleaned it out for wet work. Eventually she decided the vacuum was too loud, so she fled back into the living room and supervised my efforts from afar. She's good at that. I think she'll be a great manager some day. 3.5 buckets of water later, and presto, an empty machine.

Bubbles will be so pleased.