My dishwasher blew up last week. That night ( rather that morning at 3:00am) my little poodle, Willy, started barking up a storm. The little squirt would not shut up. So my husband got up to investigate. Two minutes later he came back to the bedroom and said, “You better get up. We have a problem. “
He led the way to the kitchen and immediately we smelled a fire, an electrical fire of some sort. I started touching all the outlets to check for heat and walked by the dishwasher. I felt a wave of heat and when I looked down I saw black smudges on the outside of the machine. “I found it,” I said. Then, “Crack, crack, sizzle, sizzle.” I was afraid it might explode. Then one final, “Sizzle, sizzle, shhhhhh,” and the thing was dead. No doubt about it. I opened the door and the room filled with the awful odor, like a tire burning. Relieved, we all went back to bed.
Today we get our new dishwasher. I am thrilled. While it was nice to wash and dry the dishes with my husband, all that “together” time, I can’t wait to plop the dirty things into that magic machine and hear that familiar hum. Oh, and Willy, he got a nice big bone as a treat and a new nickname, Lassie. All of you baby boomers I’m sure remember that remarkable, fabulously smart dog from TV, the one who was always saving Timmy, like a canine version of Superman. Now I think that maybe he really was that smart, like Willy.
Causes Patricia Thomas Supports
Room to Read, UNICEF, Kiva, Save the Children, Pencils of Promise