Won’t it fix itself?

Sometimes I know when items such as gaskets, my oven and my car are worn out or broken.
Gaskets leak where two pipes meet, my oven never seems to sustain a constant temperature, and my car’s battery begs for an auto-like Redbull energy drink.
Sometimes I actually try to fix things as soon as I notice it has broken.
Sometimes I can secretly hope for several days that it will fix itself.
That never happens.
Such was the case this morning.
I knew the pressure washer was not working properly.
Our pressure washer sprays water so fast and hard, it will peel decals right off a car, skid loader, tractor…skin off my fingers.
If, I am not careful, when I pressure wash the skid loader, it could end up reading “kidloader” and I would get in a lot of trouble with child protective services.
God forbid they think I use farm equipment to move my children around the farm.
I am not even going to discuss the time one of my offspring fell out of the bucket of the skid loader and required several stitches to the back of his head.
I will, however, explain that Father was watching the children while I was in Las Vegas when this particular incident occurred.
Getting back to the pressure washer. On the end of the long hose that I drag through the parlor every morning after milking when it’s time wash the space, is a nozzle.
It doesn’t look at that special, but believe me it is.
It has some sort of mechanism inside that makes the jet of water spin in a circle. It’s hard to explain, but think Spirograph. It makes designs in dirt just as fantabulous.
Well, the thingamajig inside the nozzle hasn’t been working for more than a week.
I don’t like working on the pressure washer. It requires more tools than a person can legally carry without affecting a health-insurance policy.
Hence the wish for it to fix itself.
This morning, it still wasn’t working.
(I was also in a bad mood because the hoses on all our milking equipment are worn out and they haven’t replaced themselves either.)
I did the next best thing.
I batted my eyelashes at Hubby and asked him if he could “help” me fix the nozzle when he was done scraping manure out of the milking parlor and holding area.
I secretly know that asking Hubby to help means he will just take over and make the repair.
It worked.
An old nozzle was put on the hose by Hubby, to allow me to continue to pressure wash. This nozzle was quite disappointing. It lacked the pressure clean the walls and floors to my satisfaction.
When I finished pseudo-washing the milking parlor, the first nozzle was repaired and ready to be replaced.
In essence, I guess the nozzle did kind of repair itself, via Hubby.
Now if only I could talk to Steve about those gnarly hoses on the milking unit.

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