Twas the night before Christmas and my washing machine stopped working, as in totally refusing to run at all. The little bugger would start a cycle and then stop mid-way, flashing alarmingly and dramatically, while making a scary beeping noise.
I broke into a cold sweat because I do one or two loads per day. Aside from the fact I was once again annoyed at the fact we are well into the 2000’s and I, the woman of the house, was still stuck doing the laundry I also understood with the clarity of someone who likes to see the bottom of the hamper that no service worker would be available to service my machine until at least a week after New Year’s.
Warranty or not.
I was stuffed, up poop creek without a paddle. Thoughts of driving dirty loads of laundry to my mum’s house twice a day and then returning to take them off the line stopped me in my tracks.
My entire quality of life was in jeopardy.