I have been fearing this day for years.
I moved into my first apartment the fall after I graduated from college. I was student teaching as a grad student, and I was sharing a three-bedroom apartment with Lisa and Alicia. Since the three of us had previously shared one tiny dorm room, we felt like the apartment was a palace of space. As my rite of passage into adulthood, and a nod to my obsessive cleaning tendencies, I purchased a washer and dryer.
This was a big deal for me. I went to the library and researched various models in Consumer Reports. I asked the opinions of anyone who seemed knowledgeable on the subject. I stood in the showroom at Sears, examining various models and comparing them to my photocopied pages from Consumer Reports. Eventually, I purchased a washer and dryer set.
That washer and dryer served Lisa, Alicia, and I well that year, doing all of our laundry and even some of our friends', boyfriends', and relatives', as not everyone was lucky enough to own large appliances of their own. When I moved to my very own apartment the next year, the washer and dryer went with me. When, six months later, I moved to a rental house in Zionsville with John (and kind of Sarah) (and later joined by Derek), my appliances took up residence in the scary laundry room in the back of the garage. When Ben and I purchased our first house in Zionsville, the washer and dryer lived in the pantry off our kitchen. They saw the addition of Bryn to our laundry loads. They accompanied us on the move to our new house in Brownsburg. Around this time, I noticed that the dryer was not functioning as well as it once had; most loads had to be run through twice if I wanted them actually dry. But we continued on, and the washer and dryer then bravely bore the added loads produced by Shay.
Until yesterday. As I do what seems like several times a day, I transferred a load from the washer to the dryer. This one happened to be a load of Shay's clothes. I emptied the lint trap. I closed the dryer door. And I pushed the button to start the load. But this time, nothing happened. I pushed it again. Nothing. And again and again and again. When Ben came home, I had him push it. Still nothing.
Ben turned to Ye Olde Internet to attempt to find some solutions last night, and quickly learned that dryer repair is out of his comfort zone. So today we placed a call to an appliance repairman and are waiting to hear back tomorrow. I fear that he will confirm my suspicions that my poor dryer has bitten the dust. Apparently my appliances are not appreciating the fact that we are trying to follow our cult leader Dave Ramsey to financial freedom by getting debt-free. Anyone have suggestions on good but cheap dryers? And until we manage to procure one, anybody local want to volunteer your house for me to dry Shay's clothes?