My life lately has not been a comedy of disasters involving several dead or dying friends, medical supply houses that refuse to ship medical supplies, the post office refusing to deliver Zor’s mail, an insane number of assignments from my college’s sink-or-swim graphic design program, an inability to receive personal phone messages because (mostly) the GOP fills up my answering machine more than once per day, multiple dead appliances, bad house wiring that would cost roughly the Korean war debt to fix, and personal illnesses. No, it hasn’t been hellish at all.
Oh wait, yes it has.
So it will come as no surprise that there has been a latest minor disaster. The only surprise will be the nature of the minor disaster.
Last night I was stuffing a second day’s worth of dirty dishes in the (new and miraculously still working) dishwasher. Both dogs were crowding around, drawn by the “dirty clink”, hoping to lick plates. With my head full of a tidal wave of mucous that changed directions every time I bent or straightened, I was not consistent with shooing them away. Then, well… As they say, it happened so fast.
I think what happened was, Cobie got his collar caught in the bottom dishwasher rack. He panicked and dragged the rack, full of all my worldly china, out of the dishwasher, where it hung up briefly between the dishwasher door and the (not working GODDAMMIT) oven. He plunged and leapt like a cayuse, yanked the rack free in a hailstorm of silverware and plate, saucer, and bowl shrapnel, and dragged the rack into the kitchen, scattering broken shards as he fled. There the rack came unattached, allowing Cobie to take cover in the living room.
Kelly hid under the dishwasher door. As soon as the noise stopped, she came out and started inspecting the wreckage for tidbits.
Both dogs were barefoot, obviously, and so was I. I was trapped by my bare diabetic feet amid all this unbroken glass, and I was too close to the sink to bend over and scoop up Kelly. I scanned the ground for blood, and didn’t see any. Right about then T-Moth (husband) and Zor (youngest spawn) showed up to see what the racket was. “Could you get her before she cuts herself? Could someone bring me some shoes?”
Eventually we got it all cleaned up, and as far as I was able to determine, nobody was cut–thank goodness. However I am down two plates, a saucer, and a bowl. Perhaps I can replace them, as I bought these open stock at Odd Lots a couple of years ago, and it’s Christmas (blargh) so maybe they will be carrying red dishes again. Although the way my luck is going…
Dishes were not in the budget at all, nor time for a shopping trip. But I could also look at Goodwill, where they might have some plain white plates that, while they wouldn’t match, at least would not clash.
Of course I sold my old dishes at the yard sale. I suspect this is how hoarders get started.