Parting is such sweet sorrow...

Sigh. We've been together for so long. Eighteen years, from my best estimate. We've been through the utility room off the carport in the Florida apartment. And then to the new house we built in Florida. You got loaded onto the moving truck when we moved to New England, and you tolerated a year in a cold and lonely storage unit while we rented our already-equipped apartment in MA before buying the house in NH. For the past 12 years, you've been tucked away quietly in your own little corner of the house. Through two toddlers. And I know they've abused you, causing you to work overtime. Eight loads a week sometimes! And yet you never complained.

But you have been giving me little signs over the last few months. Sometimes just an ounce or so of water on the floor. Sometimes more. Especially when we put you under stress. This winter has been stressful. More heavy jeans and sweatshirts than usual, with four of us in the house now. The puddles have been a little bigger. I'm afraid to leave you alone with a full load of laundry, for fear of turning the laundry room into an indoor pool.

And so, it is time to say goodbye. This weekend, I went out and decided you are being replaced by this slick new guy. He costs twice as much as you did 18 years ago and probably won't last half as long. But he's slick. He requires his own special detergent (although less of it they say). He's incredibly vain, demanding $200 more to come in a hot red color and another $200 to come on a plastic pedestal with a drawer in it. I was tempted, but I resisted. I'm a frugal person. So, he will be in standard white and K will build a platform for him. I'm not sure why he needs all those buttons on the front. Aren't there only two decisions to make - water temperature, and size of load?

Goodbye, dear Frigidaire top-loading washer. It's been good knowing you. Your last full day is Tuesday. Perhaps one more load of dishtowels to remember me by?