I got home last night from a long work trip to the civil servant mothership. Our nation's capital. Ottawa. Once home, after I had a good whine about the glacial speed of government bureaucracy, the total wrongness of working all week and then through the weekend, and the $6 stale sandwiches on Air Canada, I asked B:
"So Sweetie, what's new at home?"
"Hmmm, well, the dogs are fine. I finished grouting the new tiles in the bathroom. Oh, and the kitchen sink is plugged and backed up. I have to buy a plumber's snake tomorrow." Ah bliss, I'm home again.
B turned on the dishwasher just before we crawled into bed. He fell asleep right away, but I had slept on the flight and was wide awake, so I read in bed with my itty-bitty-book-light. After over an hour of reading, I realized that the dishwasher had been making the same grinding, rhythmic sound of the first wash cycle for far too long. I turned it off, because something was clearly wrong. And I went to sleep.
This morning I said to B:
"I had to stop the dishwasher last night, it seemed to be stuck on the first wash cycle. I think what may be happening is that it likely has a sensor, or valve, that senses the kitchen drain pipe is blocked with water, and it will not switch into the drain cycle until the blocked drain is clear. It's probably a safety mechanism."
B gave me the look and said, "You can't really believe the dishwasher can sense the drain is blocked. No way. Trust me, they don't make them like that."
I just shrugged. Whatever. He's the one with an engineering education.
Tonight we had dinner with B's parents. Over desert, after B's Mom complained that her electric kettle was on the fritz, B said, in what I believe was genuine innocence, "Oh, yah, don't get me started on the topic of appliances breaking down. Yesterday our dishwasher got stuck on the first wash cycle. I think what may be happening is that it likely has a sensor, or valve, that senses that our kitchen drain pipe is blocked with water, and it will not switch into the drain cycle until the blocked drain is clear. It's probably a safety mechanism."
I stared, gobsmacked, at this creature who I love so dearly. I looked out the window to see if the spaceship was coming to pick him up. Cuz men, as much as I love 'em, are truly from another planet.
Today's dream travel destination: Mars.
23 comments:
Ah, men. Gotta love 'em...
Oh YES
Aliens, the lot of them.
This post made me laugh out loud. Yep, another planet for sure. Ha.
jazz, yes, we love 'em. Even when we're not sure why.
riseoutofme, yes, but the way the aliens are packaged (so to speak) is so appealing.
carver, my alien makes me laugh out loud regularly.
Just to put my spin on Jazz's comment, my sweet: "Ah, men, you gotta love us!" But, you see, too, after you had made your statement, he thought about it and thought about it, and conceded in his mind that you were right. So, you see, he was, in his own Martian manner, praising you. Work for you? Works for me.
I love how your dream destination caps off the whole story. Hahahahahaha.
(I actually can never chime in on those "oh, men...gotta love 'em; can't understand 'em" stuff, as he, honest to God, never does such stuff. I always say I married him because he's the closest thing to a woman I could find)
I know a guy like that. He keeps passing off other people's personal anecdotes as his own. I've been at a party with him when he told this great story about something that happened to him which was actually a story I told him about me years before. Kind of creeped me out. I don't like him so much anymore.
I'm working from home today, listening to the plumber plumbing downstairs and watching the dollar signs creep up by the minute. None of our home remedies could unplug the sink. He is now cutting open pipe in the basement. Oh help!
Ian, you're almost right. He thought about it, and thought about it, and then came to the conclusion that it made sense, and then it never occurred to him he didn't figure it out himself. But I love him. And if that's the worst thing he does, hey.....
jocelyn, clone that man of yours.
pedestrian, Hi, and welcome. I wonder if the guy you talk about knew the stories were not his, or he convinced himself they happened to him?
V.
I think you may be married to my husband. Which would make us what, co-wives? Sisters?
I have had the exact same experience with he who shall remain nameless in which I posit something, he shoots it down derisively, and then later, parrots it back to me in front of others, no less, as if it were his idea in the first place.
I feel constantly blindsided so I can totally relate. And when the space ship arrives, could you please send them over here for their other passenger? He'll be waiting on the curb with his bindle.
Now you know exactly how men feel about women. What woman hasn't put her man through the following:
HE: What's wrong?
SHE: (crying) Nothing.
HE: Come on. Talk to me. What's wrong?
SHE: I shouldn't have to tell you what's wrong! If you don't know, then I'm not going to tell you!
HE: Is this about that stupid comment I made about your butt? Come on ... you KNOW I was just kidding, right?
SHE: (throws shoes at him) You bastard!
sister (AKA heartinS.F.), I'll send the spaceship over if it comes, but it may be very full. There are a lot of these aliens.
Ninja, If men can take our smart ideas and make them their own, it's not too much to ask they read our minds in return. Since they're so smart and all.
V.
Men are truly something else. My husband took two trips to the plumbing store today to fix the kitchen faucet. The first to get a part and then he put it all together again when then he noticed it was still leaking from another place. Back to the store for another new part. Got there five minutes after they closed and will have to go tomorrow. How about doing it all at once instead of in little pieces?
This is the scientist with the PhD but not in common sense!
I try to be smart, I really do ... but my penis keeps getting in the way of everything.
You know, if EPI had done that I would have kicked him under the table. Hard.
I think Ian Lidster has nailed it. Works for me too!
You, dear friend, have been tagged par moi. Was it good? If interested, please check my blog.
jmb, Oh I hear you! My Dad has a master's degree in engineering, but cannot master the complexities of hard boiling an egg.
Ninja, most men are smart. But then command central directs all the blood flow away their brains. And smart flies out the window. God luv y'all.
Alda, If I had kicked B under the table, he just would have rubbed his shin and wondered "What was that for?"
Dumdad, Safe answer!
Ian, I'm on my way over now to pick up the tag. Cool! It may take a while, because in between reading blogs I am answering the door to little witches, ghosts and bumble bees.
V.
LOL Men...far too many words to put in a comment.
Yeah, men are from Mars. And Mercury must be in retrograde what with so many appliances breaking down.
Actually, I'm reading this fascinating book about how mutable people's ideas are. It doesn't take much (or much time) after an ideas is suggested to someone before they come to believe that it was their idea in the first place.
You are an intuitive dishwasher repair person and you could get very rich. Like the horse whisperer, only . . .
What Alda said. Only I can't kick Epi, I'd have to kick my own husband.
Um, could you ask him about our dishwasher? 'Cause we have been having problems with it leaving all this crud on the glasses that dries on and then you have to soak them and wipe them clean.
Since he's all over dishwasher repair and all....
(Good luck)
echomouse, We could write a book...
rozanne, I'm sure I could think of an occasion when I passed off someone else's idea as mine. But I always KNEW I was stealing it.
Ruth, I AM a dishwasher whisperer! I was right; now that the drain is cleared (several hundred bucks later,) it's working just fine.
coffee drinking woman, There must be a lot of men walking around with bruised shins.
Diana, I would be happy to lend you B for dishwasher advice. But if you really want it fixed, I advise calling the Maytag guy.
V.
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