UPDATED: My Boobs Broke My Washer

Jan 20 2016

Look; it’s been a rough season for appliances in our house. I don’t know if we’re doing appliances wrong, or if appliances aren’t built for 47HundredMillion people to use them ALL DAY LONG, or if I’m modeling Breakdown / I Quit / I HONEST TO GOD CANNOT DO ONE MORE THING behavior, or what; I just know this is the house where appliances come to die terrible, terrible deaths, and we can pray for them.

Here’s an example with a beginning, a middle, a middle, a middle, a middle, and an end. Ready? OK.

We bought a microwave. It died. We bought a new microwave. It died. Greg’s grandma gave us her old microwave. It died. We bought a used microwave. The children lit it on fire. (REMOVE THE PLASTIC WRAPPER FROM THE POPCORN PACKAGE, GUYS. Just saying.) It died. Friends gave us their microwave. Died. Won a $100 BestBuy gift certificate! WOOT! Bought a new microwave. The week after the one-year warranty ended, it coughed, spluttered and died. DIED. Bought a new microwave. Died, but inside of the warranty period this time, so HA! Called the company! Demanded restitution! (With a please, ’cause there’s no need to be rude.) They sent a repairman. … A repairman. For a $75 microwave? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  Okeedokee, company. Whatever floats your boat. … The repairman came. He ordered a $50 part, and, I assume, charged the company $3B in labor. Three weeks later, the part arrived, and the repairman raised the microwave from the dead. IT LIVES. We call it Lazarus. The End.

This is, of course, but one small example of Appliance Death around here.

We’re currently on Fridge #5 for this house, where we’ve lived 14 years.

We use toothpicks and sometimes an ice pick to start our stove (long story), but the burners light all the way, like, 73% of the time.

The dishwasher died last Spring after the heating element bent and melted a hole in the tub, causing gallons and gallons (and gallons) of dirty dishwater to pour into our subfloor over weeks and weeks before it finally bubbled up from underneath the cheap laminate floor and clued us in. Which, wheeeeeeeee! New floors!

And then, on Tuesday, when the repairman was here repairing the NEW dishwasher which tried to burn our house down — melted electric connector, because it wants to be cool like the microwave, and God knows, if the microwave jumped off a bridge, the dishwasher would, too (dishwashers these days!) — the clothes washer gave up the ghost.

Kerklunk. Kerklunk. Kerklunk. Vvvvvzzzzzzz. KERKLUNK. Aaaannnddd… DEAD.


The clothes washer is lying dead upstairs as I type.

And, guys. Guys. Guys. My boobs killed it.

I know that’s true because Greg performed the autopsy, and he found my underwire wrapped around the shaft.

I don’t even know what to say about this, except I assume my boobs, with great compassion, decided the washer had had enough and took action to end its suffering.

In conclusion, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. And bless my boobs’ heart. And don’t ever let my boobs see you suffer, because they clearly mean well, but they have very, VERY poor self-control.

The End.

P.S. You can pray for Greg.

P.P.S. And the shaft.

P.P.P.S. And for Greg as he coaxes the shaft back to life.



For those of you who’ve been waiting with bated breath for the washer outcome (all of you, I’m sure), Greg has compiled the following update:

I can report the washer is whole again, resting quietly after a vigorous workout.

I removed the outer coverings, including the rubber barrier because sometimes it’s hard to get a good feel for what’s going on with a rubber barrier in the way.

I realized after exposing it that the best way in was from the rear.

Although it was a tight fit, and required a firm grasp, I pulled, pushed, yanked and twisted until the job was done.

With great relief following my efforts, I confirmed the shaft is undamaged.

My job wasn’t done, however, until the washer was satisfied with its performance, so I ran the cycle labeled “Quick Wash,” because this model knows about five kids, and came prepared for quickies when we’ve only got RIGHT NOW and we must GET IT DONE.

After the final spin, I can confirm we are back to near complete appliance compliance, and I’ve learned some valuable lessons:

  1. I’m OK with a random underwire issue once every 21 years as a cost of needing them in the first place.
  2. It might be in my best interest to encourage more regular bra replacement. I should probably offer to help Beth shop for them.
  3. Even when an appliance problem is a common one (per the guys at the local sales and repair shop I visited), in our house it has to go bigger and more spectacular than they’ve ever heard.  “Around the shaft? Really? How did it do that?”