The startling news from our house is that I have managed to repair something. My long-suffering partner, who has had to put up with my technical ineptitude for 30 years, is at work and, for all I know, needed to be revived after fainting upon hearing the news.
When something goes wrong, my first cry, myself first call, even, is to the management. “What do I do with (insert just about any household malfunction)?” She tells me, as if patiently addressing an errant toddler, in the most straightforward terms and still I don’t have a clue what to do. Until today.
The details of what follows will, I know, be of no interest to anyone else but it involves our dishwasher, which often displays an error message. My solution, as it is with pretty well anything, is to switch it on and off and if that doesn’t work to twiddle something that moves and hope for the best. Today, it required more than that.
I was directed to visit You Tube for the answer. I did as instructed (this was not a request) and took things apart, something that almost inevitably means I can’t put things back together again. But this time, after poking around with a small brush, I did put it back together again. I’m amazed. But not as amazed as when I discovered the dishwasher was working again.
To most folk, this is straightforward. To me is it akin to the difficulty of carrying out brain surgery. And for someone as depressed and anxious as I am about you-know-what, I am now a hero, at least in my eyes.
Next time: I explain how I unblocked the shitter.
