I didn't really mind so much, we have a 12 year old dishwasher on summer vacation from school. So I delayed in replacing the old lady. I was thinking that my son could learn something from a little work in the sink. How wrong was I?



The deal was that everyone was to do their own dishes, yeah, right! That soon faded, by the 3rd night the pile of unwashed dishes stretched down the counter to the stove.

And, oh yeah, whenever the kid did wash 'em you couldn't really tell, except that they were wet. I guess he pulled one over on me. Wet dishes don't equal washed dishes. We need to work on the math a little, before school starts.

Returning from the big home improvement box, we had a new dishwasher in tow.

We were all a little excited; it seemed a bit like Christmas. The atmosphere was electric with boxes and activity, the thought of a new dishwasher dancing in our heads.

Now, I have done my share of home improvements, actually I was the one who planted the old lady that just passed. So I knew to save the electric cord, before the funeral. And, that little metal elbow that connects the water line to the dishwasher.

However, my wife considers me less than a handyman. I have a reputation around the house as Mr. Non-repair. She had one of her dad's friends come over and swap out a ceiling fan. It's true, her father's buddy fixing things in my house.

But now I had a chance to redeem myself. With skill and the technique of the best trained service technician I tackled the dishwasher installation in less than one hour.

My family was amazed. The final test was upon us. It was time to see if she worked. It was time to see if dad could really install something.

We stood holding our collective breaths as I started it. She paused for a minute in her start up mode, and then started washing. I stood triumphantly as she turned on. The motor made beautiful music.

I have rightfully regained the status and privileges, stolen from me by the fan man.