The Repairman

Don’t call him. Guess what I did today. Go ahead, guess.

I put the washing machine back together all by myself.

I know more about skate plates and agitators and drive motors than I ever thought I would. I spent a good bit o’time this morning googling about our washer. It spins, shall we say, halfheartedly. That’s a bit of exaggeration. When it gets to the spin cycle, it doesn’t. The motor runs, but unless you give it a little helping hand, nothing. After a kickstart, it does not pick up speed. It chugs and coasts, like it’s trucking up and down gentle, rolling hills.

Did you know that not all washing machines have belts? I didn’t. Ours does not. It’s a direct drive. When Ian got home, we started taking the washer apart. After we checked all of the usual culprits for a slow spinner by deconstructing the poor thing into its component parts, Ian figured out that it had to be the clutch. You know what? You don’t even have to take the cabinet off to get to the clutch. Not that we ran out and bought one. Ian did what we always do. He found a way to make it work with what we have. So we’ll be roughing up the clutch a bit to see if that’s enough to keep it from moving like it’s not supposed to.

I insisted that he take a break, so we sat in the living room for a while, then had a few minutes to snuggle in bed (I told you we were cute. Doesn’t it make you sick?) before he had to go back to work. I assured him that even though I’d left the room to go check schematics several times during the disassembly,and so had not witnessed where each and every screw came from, I was quite capable of putting the whole thing back together by myself while he was working.

Ian’s not a fan of me fixing things; that’s his job. You should ask him about the Frankenmixer sometime. I try to tell him that I did live all by my little lonesome for years, but he always points out that I don’t now. Which is, of course, true. But I do so¬†like fixing things. Mostly to thumb my nose at all the arrogant men who think I can’t because I’m just a girl.

So I chipped my Fiji Purple polish throwing that thing back together.

PS Washing machines are absolutely disgusting on the inside.