Because I'm not just a one-serviceman type of gal, I guess...
Again, like last week, I sat upstairs listening to productive-sounding clangs and crashes. This time, however, I spent the time plotting what to do should he tell me there was yet another part to be ordered. I had just settled on the idea of holding the repairman hostage until it arrived, when he announced that he had indeed fixed the dryer. He even invited me downstairs to check out how hot it was.
There's a joke there, but I'm not taking it. I'm better than that.
"Mommy! It's making a weird sound!"
"No, it's fine. He just showed me that it works."
"No, it's weird!"
Darned if the kid wasn't right - the dryer was refusing to tumble. Thoughts of a dryerless 3-day weekend reverberating through my panicked mind, I ran out to the parking lot, waving my arms at my former hero's departing car. I have no dignity when it comes to laundry, apparently. None.
Reader, that repairman is an honorable soul. I know this, because he turned his car around and came back in the house.
"Just a loose belt, ma'am," he reassured me, as I hovered nervously in the laundry room doorway, blocking any chance of egress on his part. "Should be just fine now."
"Are you sure?" I asked, before I unlocked the front door to let him out.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, eyeing the exit a tad anxiously. "Fixed her right up!"
And he had. It works! Don't you love happy endings?
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