I remember the day very clearly: My husband and I anxiously showed up at the
inspection of our first home to meet the inspector annnnnnd the current
homeowners. LAME. My husband tried to keep up with the
professional and I tried to make small talk with the natives. Mr. Homeowner gave me a quick tour of his
“handy work” leading me into the kitchen where he beamed with pride and
boasted, “Here’s the dishwasher. I
installed it myself!” I am sure my gift
of shamelessly wearing my emotions on my sleeve graciously allowed my face to
read, “OBVIOUSLY!” The dishwasher,
instead of being flush with the underside of the counter, hung down-roughly two
inches-by two thin metal mounts.
Lovely.
Fast forward to the present:
Today as I was unloading the dishwasher (putting away the bowls and mugs
on the other side of the kitchen) my soon-to-be two-year-old son decided to
climb up, stand on the open dishwasher door, and JUMP. I shouldn’t have been shocked at the sight of
the entire dishwasher tilting forward, door forming a ramp to the ground with
both baskets hanging out! Oh, and my son
was still standing on “the ramp.” I
calmly removed him, simultaneously held both drawers inside the dishwasher,
closed it and shoved the entire thing
back into its original position.
I have decided NOT to turn the thing on until my husband
returns from work and let’s hope it stays in place until then…
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