I hate gender stereotypes.
But this week all I really wanted was a dude with a big shiny toolbox to take up space in my life.
The mental fog that took over during my separation has lifted. I don’t miss my marriage, and I sure as heck don’t want it back. But then I needed new snow tires, my car started leaking oil, and my washing machine broke.
Using a friend’s connections I got a great deal on snow tires and felt like I was winning. I booked my car in for maintenance, and it doesn’t appear the problem is a difficult one to fix, but the washing machine?
The washing machine brought me to my knees.
One sunny Sunday afternoon it filled with water and then just quit, and to be honest I wanted to do the same thing, except, of course, subbing out water for wine.
I checked the breaker, unplugged the machine, plugged it back in. I moved things around, and bailed out some of the water. Next, I called my dad who lives 300 kilometres away.
“Jeez, Danna, I’m not sure,” he said, before asking me to try all of the things I had already tried.
And then I called my friend’s boyfriend–the handiest guy I know apart from my dad. He showed up. Tried all of the things that I tried and a few more, then turned to me and said, “sorry, looks like you’re going to need a real repair guy.”
And he left, and I had the biggest, longest sob I’ve had in months.
I wasn’t crying about my washer. I wasn’t crying about the money it would cost to fix. I wasn’t even crying about my half clean sheets.
I was crying because it was just me. There was nobody with whom to commiserate. There was no one to take this one crummy thing off my plate and deal with it so I wouldn’t have to.
I am solely responsible for making all of the decisions, and it’s amazing, but it also SUCKS!
I get it. In the grand scheme of things these are not big problems. They’re actually super small problems with super simple solutions. A repair guy showed up within 24 hours and within 10 minutes of his arrival my washing machine was cranking away.
(And yeah, the repair man is happily married. I asked.)
Truth is, I tackle MUCH bigger problems every single day, and do so without even thinking about it.
But dammit that washing machine spun me, and I feel like a crummy feminist for saying so out loud.