The Workhorse

I've never been one for smart appliances. I'd rather not talk to my toaster or send messages to my thermostat. But sometimes, I think I might be reading their minds.

A few weeks ago, while sorting  laundry, I was suddenly struck by the age and dedication of our decades-old washing machine. How many thousands of loads has it swished and swirled and spun dry? How many times have I spun that dial, always clockwise, of course.  How many more loads did it have left?

I must have been sensing metal fatigue, because a few weeks later. the workhorse died. It wasn't an overload or turning the dial counter-clockwise (the only two ways I was told you could break it), it was the great machine's heart that gave out—its motor died. 

After a few days of thinking we might fix it, we realized we had to buy a new machine ... and so we did. It's a fairly simple model, as modern machines go, but it's bigger and shinier and plays little songs when it starts and finishes. It is, in short, a show pony. Let's just hope it grows into a workhorse.