Sears.com told me that my dishwasher would arrive between 9:15 and 11:15 this morning. The deliverymen, handsome and gleaming, were here at 9:20. By 9:30 they'd trucked the old one out to the curb (bags of cookies in hands for the favor) and departed.

I've wanted a dishwasher for a long, long time. The one we had before stood between our sink and our utility pantry/stairwell and was a glorified butcher block, as we picked it up from the side of the road one day and it never worked, unless you consider leaky water all over the kitchen floor effective as a cleaning agent, which I don't. Plus, a piece of its chrome trim stuck out from the door and always jabbed me in the butt when I'd reach for the cat food or a mop.

Ahh, our beautiful new energy-safe appliance. Sweet, white, cleansing priestess. I unwrapped her with the care one takes to disrobe a virgin. Removed the styrofoam cubes from her dish racks. Peeled off her protective film with a sultry thwwoooooooorg sound that made me tingle. I'd already swept and mopped where she now stands invitingly.

Pushing her buttons, I start my first load at the stroke of 10:05 and as she came to life she purred, a snow lion cub, roused and ready to feed. Monstro pricked up at the tone and I felt my pulse throb in my chest, alive with the sound of it.