I am sad on Kindra’s behalf.
Our dishwasher gradually became less and less effective, recently reaching the point where it wouldn’t clean at all.
There were times, in fact, it seemed to make dishes dirtier than they were when you put them in.
So a couple of weeks ago Kindra sprung for a new one.
I was happy about this. Allegedly, it was a better model than the one we had and people who had left online reviews on the new model said it was quiet.
The purchase price included installation and hauling off the old dish-dirtier, which my lower back muscles appreciated.
The installation had to be scheduled for several days out and Kindra marked off each day on her mental calendar until - finally! - it was time for her new dishwasher to be here.
Two guys brought the new one into the house, took out the old one and carted it off to their truck.
They looked at the instructions for installing the new one and asked to borrow a pair of pliers and eventually had the washer in position under the kitchen cabinet.
Life was about to be good in Kindra’s world, so she loaded the washer, pushed the button and heard it faintly whirring.
It really was quiet, this dishwasher.
And it also leaked like a Congressional informant.
The carpet adjacent to the kitchen tile soaked up enough water to sustain riparian life and we couldn’t tell if it was because the washer itself was leaking or if it was the way it was installed.
So much for that washer.
After getting a promise of a refund, Kindra found another washer she liked. It was a little pricier, but, fittingly, it seemed like an even better model.
Five days later, the washer was in the kitchen, ready for installation. Life was about to be good for Kindra once again.
But wait.
A piece on the new washer was broken. It was fixable, probably, but when you spend a lot of money you’d prefer not to get something you have to fix.
So. Back out the door went the new washer, with another new one scheduled to be brought the next day, which was Tuesday.
When I got home Tuesday, sure enough, there was new dishwasher under the cabinet, yet Kindra was not exhibiting the signs of happiness that I had expected.
It was then that she showed me the piece that broke off the washer while the first load was cycling.
Not good. Three washers up, three washers down.
Dear sweet Kindra had found the end of her forbearance.
As of Tuesday night, we don’t yet have resolution, but I think it would be a good idea if I offer to do the dishes tonight.