It Comes In Threes

I am now a firm believer in that notion, death coming in threes. I'm not talking about humans, my experience proves this is true for major household appliances. This is either the three thing or it's a suicide pact my appliances entered into without my knowledge, bringing yet another theory to fact that the inanimate objects in your house are only inanimate when you're looking. I've been saying for years that my keys grow legs when I'm not watching them. But I digress.
At present, I have three large pieces of machinery dying slow deaths. My clothes washer has decided it REALLY likes the spin cycle and will stay there for an hour at a time. Granted, the clothing is nearly dry by the time I rescue them, but the dryer's getting pissed because the washer is taking its job. I can live with this for a bit as long as we don't toss clothes into the washer before we leave the house for the day. In that instance, I'm thinking the washer would eventually take flight. The second member of the trinity of death is the dishwasher. This one has decided to broaden its horizons (and job description) by taking on the additional task of washing the kitchen floor while doing the dishes. While I appreciate the thought and admire the ambition, I won't really be completely satisfied until the damn thing learns how to DRY the floor as well. The final piece to this unholy alliance is the kitchen range. While the stovetop works just swell, the oven has some sort of performance anxiety going. You can turn it on to preheat but as soon as the element kicks on, it decides "We're done here." and shuts off. This is, to say the very least, inconvenient. I'm thinking we all better get used to eating alot of soup. Unfortunately, none of these items are new enough to still have a warranty (because that would be silly of them to break while still under warranty, you know) and are too new to be sold as antiques. My beloved has graciously volunteered to take the offending items apart to see what he can see but my vision of the aftermath of that particular action is keeping me awake at night. I allow this and my immediate future is a kitchen littered with unidentified bits of machinery, sorted carefully into piles on the floor that the cats decide are new toys, the youngest boy decides to take apart further and I end up stepping on when heading for the bathroom. The road to hell is paved with bits of appliances and "I can fix that this weekend." items. NEVER! This will not be my fate!
Think I better call the repair guy tomorrow before anyone here takes drastic action.