It has been a few weeks since some skeletons tumbled out of a closet and danced a jig, but I'll get to that later. Maybe. Eventually. First I have to figure out if those skeletons really belong here in this Story About Us.
Anyway.
The skeletons tumbled, danced a jig, and they left a few dollars behind. That's the short version of a long, bizarre story. Don't you just love it when I'm vague like that?
I will not be vague about this -- WHY THE HELL DID WE WAIT SO LONG TO BUY A NEW DISHWASHER?
You heard me scream that at the top of my lungs, right? Maybe not just now, but probably at least seventy eleventeen bajillion times over the past few weeks? Because I have screamed it. Many, many times.
When we bought this house three years ago, we did so with hesitation in our hearts and a little stupid going on in our brains. It was a very badly maintained foreclosure that had been trashed. TRASHED. Very nearly destroyed, even. There was an excellent chance that we would lose our cutie patooties if we bought it, but we did so anyway. Somehow, we got lucky. Most of the damage was relatively easy to fix.
But there was that thing where the previous owners had ripped out everything that wasn't nailed to the floor. Except, they ripped out some of that stuff, too. They took the light fixtures, the faucets, and they most certainly took every appliance. Except for that dishwasher.
That was a sign, you know. When people clearly strip a house of everything of value and they leave behind a dishwasher? It's because they know they would have to pay someone to take it from them.
Which is what we did, but only after three years of not being able to run the dishwasher if anyone was home. The noise from the old one was so deafening that you couldn't hold a conversation in another room, never mind the kitchen. Standing in the kitchen when the dishwasher was on was like standing on the runway of an airport. I'M SORRY, DID YOU SAY SOMETHING? I COULDN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE ROAR OF THAT CHEAP-ASS DISHWASHER THAT DOESN'T ACTUALLY CLEAN THE DISHES ANYWAY.
So when I magically had a couple of extra dollars burning a hole in my pocket, I impulse bought a dishwasher. Because it was pretty. Seriously. That was my thought process. "Which dishwasher is the prettiest? That's the one I want." I didn't even care about the ratings or decibels or reviews or any of that because we were going from absolute junk to greatness. And by "greatness" I mean, "I could shove a bunch of hamsters in a box and end up with cleaner dishes than I do with the old one, so a new one would be an improvement no matter what."
It's so pretty.
And quiet.
And pretty.
And did I mention that it's quiet? Like, it's running right now and I can't hear it from ten feet away.
BLISS.
In case you are wondering, I did indeed just write an entire blog post about the wonder and majesty that is my new dishwasher. This is how you know I'm sort of a grown-up. Simple things like new appliances make me deliriously happy.
