Dear Frigidaire Dishwasher,
I loved you from the start. You, with your shiny stainless chest, your sleek black sides. That Smart Soil SensorTM that separated you from all the other contenders. Those cute little groaning noises you made when you were working really, really hard.
You fit in so well with the family: The stainless/black Frigidaire fridge, stove and microwave. Don't you remember when we were all so happy together?
You gave and gave and gave, only asking for a little Jet Dry in return, every now and then. And I?
Well, I don't like to keep score. You know that. I'm not petty. But I think you should know that I had my WHOLE GODDAMN COUNTER replaced, in GRANITE, so that you would fit nicely, not jutting out like an ass all the time from the original too-narrow 1947 tile counter. I had to fire one counter guy and fight with the second, who drew on my freshly painted wall IN PEN, just so you would have a frigging decent home.
But then you got all leaky -- major puddles -- and I couldn't figure out where the water was coming from. I even ordered a $13 gasket smaller than the top to a small yogurt container that came in a gigantic box.
OK! So maybe I didn't hire a "professional" plumber to get you all back and nestled into place. Maybe I didn't "realize" that you need only special dishwasher soap. And maybe, just maybe, I should have "turned on the water supply" before running you again to see if my Christian Science approach to your healing had worked.
That stinky smoke smell you've been belching out all evening? Is that a hint? Do you hate me? Do you want me to replace you with a younger, shinier model? In this economy?
You know what? I don't know how to express what I'm feeling in words. I'm still processing. Can we just take some space from each other for a while? Good. Because I'm going to Maine to Pop!Tech for a week and I'll just leave you home alone to think about what you've done.
Yours in Christ,