So last week – Thursday, it was – the washing machine made A Sound.
I didn’t think too much of it, because it sounded a lot like that chugga-chugga that accompanies an uneven load. Plus I was busy upstairs. And then it stopped, so yay.
Eventually I made my way downstairs, reached into the (now) icy depths, and redistributed the clothe, fully expecting the washer to kick into gear once that was done.. Nothing happened. I pulled some out, thinking I might have overloaded it. Nada. I switched to a drain & spin cycle, planning to just start over, because Heaven knows we all have time for that, right? RIGHT?
Nothing happened. Oh – unless you count the buzzing noise it made when I tried to turn it off.
Unplug machine. Hit Google. Text husband to see if he wants to look at it when he gets home. Call the repair place, who said they could have someone here on Tuesday.
Well, it wasn’t my idea of good news, but it could have been worse. I spent the weekend hand washing clothes, teaching the girls how to handwash their clothes, and generally feeling like when I was finished I should go outside to feed the chickens and then maybe churn some butter or piece a quilt. It wasn’t ideal, but we managed.
Tuesday dawned with great joy and the prospect of clean sheets (because if you think I’m washing those babies, you need to check your expectations.) The good news: he was done fast. The bad: because there was nothing he could do that day. We were looking at A Problem. And it could be Worse. And if it turned out to be Worse, then we were looking at Money.
Did I mention that the washer is just a bit over a year old?
Wednesday brought the dreaded news: things were indeed Worse. We were talking Money. The same amount of Money as it would cost to buy a new washer, to be precise.
Oh well. At least when I’m done with my trusty washboard, I can use it as a musical instrument.