It stared back at me

So finally after years of nagging, I allowed my better half to trade in the old dishwasher for a shiny new model. The old dishwasher was a Nesaar by the way.

I got it hooked up, water pipes secured, machine outlet all safe and snug in the little hole in the wall. I hoped the hole in the wall actually went to a drain of some sorts. You hear horror stories of people with baths that are not actually connected anywhere. They let water in but when you try to let the water out it just runs around on your beautiful bathroom tiles or heaven forbid, that expensive parquet flooring. The moment of truth arrived and I switched it on. Nothing bad happened. The machine whirred and clicked, lights mysteriously blinking on and off and I just stared at it. The scary thing was that it stared back, lights still winking at me beckoning me to try it.

Where to start I wondered until my better half came along and proffered what appeared to be a book of some sorts. Oh no, I have to read something now. The manual. The holy grail of advice and senseless store of instructions that no man seems to need. Before I could take it though my better half opened it and started telling me what I needed to do. I was instructed to touch a button, press another and slowly brush the play button. Yes the machine has a play button, sort of like that old cassette player your dad has stashed away in some recess in the garage in the hope that BASF tapes might make a comeback.

Water got sucked in and even though it sounded as if water was dripping somewhere everything remained dry and watertight, unlike that bastion of sailing the Titanic. Oops, my better half informed me that I had forgotten to hit the "use tablet" button. I was too happy to worry about informing her that she has forgotten to pass on that particular tidbit of information. Happily ensconced in thoughts of never having to wash another dish again I went to watch a bit of telly. Through the post hand wash bliss came the words of my better half, "It sounds like water splashing on the kitchen floor". Naaa, can't be I thought but let me meander over to the kitchen, I need something to eat in any case.

Damn bloody idiot machine. It was still staring right at me, light blinking and machine whirring but there was also a huge puddle of water lying on the kitchen floor. Why the dinges is there water lying on the kitchen floor? Happy thoughts were chases to far recesses of my currently occupied mind, replaced by images of washing dishes by hand while the machine still whirred away, spewing water, lights still blinking and still staring right back at me.