Remember last time when I said my dehydrator was is the last stages of death? Should have heard it. The agony was painful.
I mentioned it to Fred, and he responded by boxing it up to put it away (in his defense, he probably forgot I said anything about it and was just trying to help clean up my filthy kitchen) so I decided to take matters into my own hands. Dig into the elbow grease. Enlighten the offspring. Use my genetically superior mechanical skills (thanks for those, dad).
And then Billy Bob Joe (as he asked to be called) volunteered to help by tormenting his brother. Because if sibling torment is not a reason for involuntary conscription, I don't know what is. (that's what they call it when you get hit over the head in the bar and forced to join the pirate crew, right??)
Turns out the agony I heard was just the spinny things a-begging for some grease. Kind of like my knees today after the 4 mile power walk uphill pushing the jogger, only the dehydrator was a lot easier to grease.
Mr Doesn't-Realize-His-Own-Strength tightened the screws so tight that after we had tested, made sure it was fixed, reassembled, closed up, and re-tested, the fan no longer turned so we had to pull it all apart again and loosen key screws and re-re-assemble. But the good news is that I can give back the mil's dehydrator since we are back in business.
.
I do love a handy man.
2 comments:
That's AWESOME!! Good job Billy Bob Joe! And you!! I would never do anything so crazy mechanical (after all, isn't that why I married the mechanical genius that I did?).
And I thought it was called being shanghaied (spelling?)?
Kayli, what would I do without you? I may just need to hire you as my editor.
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