You know what we people take for granted? Hot showers. You know what else? Dryers.
Warning! This post is chock full of first world problems, friends.
It all started a few weeks ago when my dryer — not a spring chicken, I admit — started making a clattering noise straight out of your worst laundry nightmares. We have a home warranty on this 30 year old abode, so we quickly filed a claim, but it was Sunday. The appliance company contacted us on Monday, but no one could make it out until Wednesday, which in laundry speak with multiple children means you may as well just burn all your clothes and start from scratch.
When the dryer dudes finally made it out, they spent all of 10 minutes looking at my dryer, adjusting the blower wheel, and collecting my $65 deductible. It seriously pays to be a dryer dude.
And wouldn’t you know it, right as I got all of that laundry done, that blower wheel went out again? Only this time there was the magical combination of weekends, holidays, and having to order a new part that delayed the process even more, and the laundry piles got so high, we had to wash at the house and take them down the street to the laundromat. I totally volunteered for this job because while not the most savory of personalities, the laundromat crowd was significantly less whiny than my family. It was a magical place.
Now during this dryer hiatus it was wicked cold here in Austin. And if there’s one thing I love when it’s cold, it’s taking the hottest shower imaginable. Like peel your skin off hot. And that was how I broke the hot water heater.
In my defense, I don’t think I actually broke it. The Hot Water Heater Dude said it was because there was no drip pan underneath the unit, so slight leaks caused it to short out (quick — go check your hot water heaters!) He made no mention of it being the cause of “some crazy lady taking too hot of a shower,” so I stand triumphant.
But before Hot Water Heater Dude could even reassure me, we had to file a claim, wait for him to contact us, then wait until they could come out.
So let’s recap so far. No dryer. No hot water. Effing cold outside. Our options were to a) take a cold bath/shower, or b) not shower at all. I would have totally gone with option B had we not had plans for New Year’s, so I went with option c) heat up pots of water on the stove and pour them into the cold bathwater. I felt like Laura Ingalls, only with less appreciation for these primitive ways. But as I hurriedly washed in that shallow tepid pool, my husband continuously poured warm water over my back and head so I wouldn’t freeze my nips off. He’s a keeper! Unfortunately he can’t say the same for me, because when he took his Little House on the Prairie bath the day before, I laughed at him for looking ridiculous and left the room. So yes, ladies and gentlemen, he is a much better husband than I am a wife. We all have our strengths.
Hot Water Dude finally made it out, affirmed that I did not break it (mainly because we never asked about the Heat of Eternal Hell Showers that Leigh Ann Takes), and said he needed to replace it. We were just past Christmas, but now the New Year’s holiday was holding things up. More waiting, but at least he was able to work some sort of magic so we had SOME warm water while we waited for the replacement. And we forked over another $65 deductible because for some reason these amateurs didn’t think this was related to the dryer.
Sometime during these disastrous holidays — clearly it was so traumatic that I lost all sense of time and space — the Dryer Dudes came back, replaced the blasted blower wheel, and we were partially back in business. Hot Water Heater Dudes came back with a new unit and replaced that, and we paid them even more money for something that wasn’t covered in the warranty. I have no idea what. I JUST WANTED HOT WATER.
And the peasants rejoiced that they could once again shower, wash their dishes appropriately, and do all the motherloving laundry. First world problems all solved, so we could go back to worrying about important things like whether the DVR is set for Downton Abbey or how much battery life our iPhones have.
Until the kitchen faucet broke, I shit you not.