“Not by works of righteousness which we have done,
but according to his mercy he saved us,
by the washing machine generation*, and renewing of the Holy Ghost.”
Our washing machine broke on Sunday. All was well: it was happily gurgling and churning up a load of towels, when I had to come along and stick my big nose into its business. I decided that “heavy” was a more accurate description of the load, so I turned the dial to “heavy,” and…. er…. nothing else happened. It quit; it threw in the towel; it bit the dust; it gave up the ghost. So yesterday morning I phoned up the locally owned appliance repair place. They told me, sure, sure, they’d love to come fix it. How’s Thursday?
by the washing machine generation*, and renewing of the Holy Ghost.”
Our washing machine broke on Sunday. All was well: it was happily gurgling and churning up a load of towels, when I had to come along and stick my big nose into its business. I decided that “heavy” was a more accurate description of the load, so I turned the dial to “heavy,” and…. er…. nothing else happened. It quit; it threw in the towel; it bit the dust; it gave up the ghost. So yesterday morning I phoned up the locally owned appliance repair place. They told me, sure, sure, they’d love to come fix it. How’s Thursday?
Thursday? It broke on Sunday. What do I do with the fifty-odd litres of brownish water that’s in there right now? How do I finish washing these icky sheets and towels?
I had three thoughts:
- A little part of me hoped it was beyond repair. Then I’d have a chance at convincing Mr Gwen to get a front-loading washer, which would be so, so kind to the environment.
- I felt ever so sorry for all those frontier-type women who had to wash everything by hand.
- I was afraid of what the repair guy would find behind my washer when he pulled it out. Just how many mice turds are back there, anyway?
But then last night, I realized the dishwasher wasn’t working either. I panicked, and shrieked to my husband, “What is happening to my life? Everything is falling apart!”
He calmly went downstairs and flicked a switch on the breaker panel. Both the washer and the dishwasher suddenly turned on.
I feel three things:
- Very, very silly
- Highly, highly embarrassed
- So, so glad that it was my husband who went to the breaker panel, and not the repair guy
* see “Richard Scarry’s Going Places,” giving attention to A Castle In Denmark
